Compartmental
by Jasmine2009
Summary: Tony is thrown overboard and his ability to survive depends on factors beyond his control.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Compartmental

Author: Jasmine

Date: August 9, 2013

Universe: NCIS Season 6

Rated: PG

Summary: Tony is thrown overboard and his ability to survive depends on factors beyond his control.

Chapter 1

Tony bounced on the cushioned seat of the luxury 68 foot Azimut Yacht. With a top speed of nearly 40 miles per hour and the perfect amount of V in its hull, the boat should have been slicing through the waves like a hot knife through butter, but it was doing less slicing and more colliding as it crashed into the waves. Given the fact that they were really five foot swells and the cushions weren't nearly as soft as they should have been on a boat of this quality, Tony braced himself for the jolts and jerks that the ride was providing.

"You know," Tony yelled to the goon with an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder, "your boat isn't nearly as smooth as you might think. I'm being tossed around back here like a baseball at a ballpark. Why don't you uncuff me so I can hang on a little better?"

"No worries, man," he drawled in a thick Australian accent. "We be picking up your mates soon. You can lean against one of 'em for balance if you haveta."

Tony exhaled. What a mess he had gotten himself into. It wasn't entirely his fault, though. In fact, it wasn't his fault at all. He was just following orders from the boss-man, but then something went terribly wrong and here he was, off the coast of the Mid-Atlantic States, speeding north to destinations unknown. Considering the way this case had been shaping up, none of this should have surprised him.

Exactly when the case went south, though, was worth pondering. Gibbs had gotten the bat signal five days ago about a dead navy commander in Norfolk. It took a little longer than they would have liked, but they eventually discovered that he'd been murdered by an Aussie named Duggard "One-Leg" Rawlings. Rawlings was the equivalent of a modern day pirate but with much higher living standards, and when Commander Nelson T. Burke discovered that "One-Leg" had been stealing from the U.S. Navy, he set about putting an end to it. Unfortunately, it cost the commander his life, but he did manage to leave behind enough clues to put Rawlings straight in the cross hairs of Gibbs. In usual Leroy fashion, he wasn't satisfied with the evidence; he wanted a confession. And that was the reason DiNozzo was being bounced around on the back of the Azimut trying to keep from falling overboard.

Duggard "One-Leg" Rawlings stumped down the steps to his prisoner, "I'm sorry about the conditions, Mate, but you didn't leave me much choice."

"It's par for the course, I guess."

"You seem to be taking your pending death rather well."

Tony thought back to the last three times he had encountered "One-Leg". He was a formidable foe, and had nearly killed him on two previous occasions, but as luck would have it, Tony managed to survive both attempts, only to land square in the palm of his hand right now. "Well, it's like my father always told me: You can't live forever."

"Your father must have been an idiot."

"No, he isn't an idiot. He may be a lot of things, but stupid isn't one of them. Where are we going?"

"I have a short stop to make before I dispose of you. I think you'll like the cargo I'm picking up."

He didn't like the way One-Leg spit out his words. Turning his head away, Tony looked out portside across the water at the coastline that was three to four hundred yards off. They had been riding parallel to it for almost two hours. The only thing of remote interest up north to a guy like Rawlings was the Navy Yard, and that thought didn't set too well.

Tony pushed back in his seat, wondering what One-Leg Rawlings was planning.

****8

By noon, Tony was seeing the familiar sights of Fort Hunt as they cruised the Potomac River through Alexandria and up towards the Washington Navy Yard. There were many places to slip a small boat like the Asimut and nobody would ask any questions. Yachts were a fairly common site along these waters where lobbyists and criminals courted the nation's most powerful.

"Get below," the no-neck goon ordered.

Tony stood and made his way to the metal staircase that took him down to the state rooms below. The goon followed. It may have been small, but no expense was spared to outfit the room in white leather furniture and shiny oak hardwood floors. He sat down on the sofa and leaned back. It felt good not to have to worry about keeping his balance anymore and he relaxed as much as he could under the circumstances. "So, Bubba, where are we going?"

"Mr. Rawlings will tell you if he wants you to know."

"Well, at least you can tell me what our cargo is?"

Again, a flat-line stare. _This guy could make a fortune at a poker_ _game_, Tony thought. But he listened as the engines slowed and the boat rocked to a slow crawl. He tried to look up the stairs, but the goon blocked his sight. He tried to listen to the commotion above, but even that was muffled. And when he stood up to catch a glimpse out the portal, he got a butt of a rifle planted squarely on his jaw.

Spitting out some blood on the bright white leather sofa, Tony said, "You didn't have to do that."

The goon half closed his eyes, giving the impression that he was bored with everything going on around him, but Tony got the message and sat quietly while there seemed to be a lot of commotion going on topside. The room was no longer bright which told him that the boat must have slipped under some cover. The harbor near the naval yard was filled with boat houses that could easily hold a boat of this size, several boats even, and Tony knew they were docked inside one of them. It was easy to finagle an invitation in this town. Manufacturers of luxury boats seldom allowed the general public to see their vessels getting repaired, so they would rent space at local marinas and conduct business where inquiring minds and cameras couldn't go. There was nothing the public liked more than an inconvenienced yacht owner, and there was nothing the owners liked less than pictures published of their incapacitated million dollar yachts.

But the quiet was disturbed with people coming down the steel steps. Tony looked around the goon and was surprised when Ziva, McGee, Gibbs, and Ducky filed into the small area.

"What happened, Boss?"

Gibbs shrugged, "They got the drop on us. How'd they get you?"

"He was somehow waiting for me. I think there's a leak at NCIS."

"You think, DiNozzo?"

"Yeah, how else could he have known where I was going to be?"

Gibbs had already spent too much time second guessing his plan and kicking himself for not seeing the signs earlier. Now, he was trying to figure out how he was going to keep his team alive. Duggard "One-leg" Rawlings was a killer and his reputation was known far and wide.

Ziva studied Tony and then shot a glance at the goon. There was no doubt in her mind that it was the butt of his rifle that bloodied Tony's lip. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine. I wouldn't recommend standing up though. Bubba doesn't like that too much."

The engines purred on and the boat moved slowly until the room became suddenly flooded with sunlight.

Tony looked at Ducky and said, "Why are you here?"

"Unlucky, I guess. I was with Jethro—I needed him to witness some papers that I'm having drawn up—and the next thing I know, I'm being forced into a car."

The uneven tapping sound swiveled their heads. Halfway down the staircase was "One-Leg" Rawlings. "I'm sorry I can't be more hospitable," he said bent over and looking into the crowded state room, "but we need to clear these waters before the Coast Guard gets involved. But I promise you won't have to stay down here too long. I'll bring you back topside just as soon as it's clear." He shuffled around and gimped back up the steps.

If the sound of his peg stumping up the metal steps wasn't enough to depress them, the sound of his throaty laugh as he disappeared was. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything anyone could really do, at least at the moment. Ziva checked Tony's cuffs but without a key, there was little hope of freeing him. Knowing he was uncomfortable, she leaned against him as her way of telling him he wasn't alone.

****8

"I'd like to get his definition of time," McGee said, trying to stretch his legs. "I think we've been down here almost an hour."

It was true, they had been cramped down in the cabin for a long time, but Tony would rather be here than topside. "Quit complaining, McGee. I've been on this damn boat since early morning. And riding topside isn't nearly as smooth as you might think."

"At least up there we could see where he's taking us."

"We're on the Potomac, McCompass. There aren't many places he can go."

Another hour passed before Rawlings yelled below, "Peter, bring my guests up."

The goon sneered, "You heard the man. Move." For good measure, he pulled Tony up by his tie, "Don't make me blacken an eye, Mate!"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Tony answered, shrugging away and towards the steps. He led his teammates topside and to the rear of the vessel where an S shaped white leather cushioned bench awaited them. It was only big enough for three, so Gibbs and McGee each took an individual seat, facing backwards. Tony looked forlornly at McGee, wishing he could have had the nice bucket seat since he was the one shackled, but McGee didn't pick up on his look. It was a cozy semi-circle with Ziva in between Tony and Ducky, and Gibbs and McGee on each side. It was perfect for when Rawlings addressed them.

Stumping down the steps from the Captain's bridge, "One-Leg" looked at his prisoners. He stayed fixed on one very special agent a little too long.

"Where are you taking us?" Gibbs said.

He turned and faced the NCIS team leader. It was because of him that this mess happened in the first place. Rawlings looked out over the ocean. They had long since entered the Atlantic and were traveling at a comfortable speed of 30 miles per hour. They stayed several miles off shore but could easily see the coastline even from that distance. "We have an important meeting to attend."

"Where would that be?"

Ignoring the question, he said, "You should be thankful that you get to ride in my latest acquisition. It belonged to a young millionaire, made his money off the internet, I think. Sadly, he won't be needing it anymore."

"Why take us with you? Why not just kill us?"

Rawlings regarded the silver haired man. They may not know it, but they were much more valuable to him alive than dead. "I don't plan on killing you, Mate. I plan on using you to my advantage. You see, originally, I did want to kill the team responsible for messing up my deals. I had two lined up and you interfered with both, and I don't take kindly to having my business transactions screwed up; just ask Commander Burke. But all is not lost. I can still make a deal, which just may be more lucrative than the ones you screwed up for me." He smiled, leaned back and took in the salty air. "I love the ocean. I love everything about it. I especially love that it affords me a rather stealthy getaway. Not too many cameras out here on the wide open seas." With that, he turned and stumped back up the steps to sit perched high atop the boat on the captain's bridge.

****8

Tony stretched out under the stars. His body was beginning to ache in only the way it could when your arms have been restrained behind your back for almost twenty four hours. The only time he could stretch them was on their rotating trips to the lavatory, and his joints made it clear that that wasn't nearly enough. Of course, his body could also be sore from being flipped over Rawlings' car two days earlier. The car speeding towards him had come out of nowhere and at the last second, Tony jumped, hitting the hood with his foot. The force catapulted him into the air ten feet and he landed on his shoulder, rolling in an attempt to soften the blow, but still managing to jam it. Nobody at NCIS believed that it had happened and thought Tony made it up to garner sympathy. For that matter, they hadn't believed that the graze across his ear had been from a bullet that narrowly missed blowing his brains out. It was an odd feeling to be telling the truth only to discover that nobody, including Gibbs, believed your tales. It certainly gave him pause.

He heard footsteps and thought it best to feign sleeping. Bubba liked to check on him and if he wasn't doing what he was supposed to be doing, then the goon liked to communicate his thoughts and wishes with blunt force. The last one hit him squarely in his gut with a lot more force than he had expected.

With his eyes closed and his body as close to being comfortable as it could get, he thought about his teammates. They were spread out now. Gibbs, Ducky and Ziva were allowed the comfort of the state rooms below. McGee was allowed the bow of the boat and given a blanket. Since Bubba had never taken too kindly to Tony, he was kept in the rear of the boat next to the engines and fumes, with no room to extend to his full body length and no blanket for warmth. It was cold, noisy and above all, impossible to find a comfortable position. He figured he had caught catnaps but it was due more to sheer exhaustion than being comfortable, and considering the alternative, it wasn't that bad. By morning, Bubba would then kick him awake first and then go rouse the others.

This morning was only slightly different; instead of kicking him awake, he had thrown a bucket of salt water on him. The sudden cold forced him to gasp for air, and caused temporary confusion. It took a minute for him to get his bearings, but when he did, he pushed himself up on the cushions and tried to wake up a little more sanely. The sun was making an appearance. The sky's pink and purplish and dark blue glow contrasted beautifully with the bright red ball peeking just over the horizon. Under different circumstances, it would truly be a sight to behold.

Ziva sat down next to her partner, observing him. His eye was swollen from another senseless punch from Peter, otherwise known as Bubba, and he was drenched. "Bad night?"

"When hasn't it been?"

She looked over at Ducky, who was not wearing his customary hat. Whereas the others had all tanned from being exposed to the sun, Ducky had not. His nose was now a bright red.

Like Ziva, Ducky observed Tony, "Don't tell me your mouth got you in trouble again?"

Tony sighed, he could honestly say that this time it wasn't his mouth. He really had no idea why Bubba struck him again, but men carrying around more testosterone than normal didn't always need a reason, that's what made them such great body guards and goons to the corrupt and uber insane.

"Tony?" Gibbs said.

"I'm fine, Boss. I don't think Bubba likes me though."

Gibbs gave a crocked smile at the understatement and thought the feeling probably wasn't limited to Bubba. He sensed a dangerous side to Rawlings where his senior field agent was concerned.

"Where do you think we are?"

Tony looked around. He could no longer see any land, but further out to sea, they periodically passed large ships. They had stopped once during the night, presumably to refuel, and had kept a steady speed of thirty to thirty-five miles per hour. Considering they had been traveling for close to 26 hours, he suspected they may have passed Florida and were heading south. "My guess, somewhere in the Carribbean. Possibly the Bahamas."

Gibbs nodded, he had thought the same.

McGee said, "I overheard them talking topside. They have a deadline to be somewhere and detouring to pick us up only delayed them."

"That would explain why we've travelled non-stop," Tony said, moving his shoulders in an attempt to get circulation to them.

Tony's stomach growled and he said, "Do you think it would kill them to give us something to eat?"

The others looked oddly at him. McGee finally said, "We ate last night. They brought me a plate of food around midnight."

Ziva added, "Us, too."

Tony rolled his eyes at the injustices of the world. He had been with them the longest yet they didn't see fit to feed him.

"We just assumed they fed everyone."

"Well they didn't," he countered, irritably.

There wasn't much conversation after that. Bubba took each to the lavatory and returned Tony with a fresh wound to the side of his face. In response to the questions his colleagues weren't asking, he said, "I asked if I could have a sandwich. Apparently, they plan to starve me to death."

When the sun was straight up overhead, the twin engines slowed to a crawl. Gibbs and Tony shared a look, like their gut was telling them something was about to happen. Bubba came up from below while Rawlings made his way down the metal steps from the Captain's loft. He tossed several sets of cuffs on the table. Glaring, he toned, "Put them on."

After a moment's hesitation, Bubba lowered his rifle and aimed at the nearest person, which happened to be McGee.

"I don't like to ask twice," One-Leg toned.

One by one, they picked up the metal bracelets and secured them around their wrists. When the chore was complete and Bubba had lowered his rifle and stepped back, Rawlings looked at his prisoners and smiled. "You mates are going to bring me quite a bit of cash.

"Who's buying us?" Gibbs asked.

"Does it really matter? The important thing is you're worth money to me and a lot of it."

"So now you're in the business of human trafficking?"

"Not really. At least I wouldn't call it that. I'm an opportunist and I recently learned of an opportunity to make quite a bit of money. You see, I learnt that this particular gent is willing to pay handsomely for the capture of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Since it was your team that screwed me out of millions of dollars, I decided to oblige this gent and deliver you."

"Who might this gent be?" Ducky asked.

"No doubt someone who the great Leroy Jethro Gibbs pissed off. I don't care who he is in the least; I just care that he's willing to pay generously for your life and I plan to oblige him."

"What about them," Gibbs said, nodding his head towards his team.

"They are bonus money. I don't get nearly as much for them as I do for you, but money is money, and a business deal is a business deal." Then he turned his attention towards Tony, giving him that same evil look of earlier. Tony seemed to sense something was wrong and stared back.

"As for you, Special Agent DiNozzo, I've spent a lot of time thinking about you, mate. You fall into a different category from the others. You see, I almost blame you entirely for my failed dealings back in Norfolk. When I check around, it seems like your name keeps coming up. I had never heard of Dr. Mallard, or Agent McGee, or even Ziva David before now…, but you? I was told that you have a brain like a steel trap. That you lay quietly gathering all the evidence in your head until one day you put it all together and snap that steel trap shut."

"I wouldn't rely on hearsay, Rawlings," Tony said. "I'm just doing my job."

"Perhaps, but I suspect that you're the kind of agent that takes great delight in taking people like me down."

"Well, you are a criminal and taking people like you down is what they hire me to do."

"Unlike Peter here, I happen to like you. I could use a man of your caliber on my team. Someone not afraid to take risks, someone not afraid to get his hands dirty."

"I see what the problem is," Tony said, not being able to help himself. "Is Bubba a little OCD? Spends more time washing his hands than actually using them? That might explain why he likes the butt of his rifle more than his fists."

Rawlings shot out an arm to prevent his man from attacking DiNozzo, "Take it easy, Peter. He's just trying to get you riled up."

Bubba glared a minute, and then, like a good soldier, backed away and resumed his original position.

Rawlings continued, "Peter doesn't much like you. He thinks you're better looking than he is. I think he's a bit insecure."

Gibbs' gut clenched when he heard Tony laugh. "Tony…" he warned, trying to save his agent's butt before his mouth got him into deep trouble, but he was too late; Tony was already firing back.

"He thinks _I'm_ better looking? Hell, everyone on this boat is better looking than he is!"

This time Bubba slipped past his boss and grabbed Tony by his lapels and pulled him to eye level.

Tony stared back and added, "You're even worse up close. Must be hell getting women—"

The punch landed squarely across his nose and blood splattered the white leather bench where he'd been sitting.

"Peter!" Rawlings demanded. It wasn't until Peter heard the distinct bolt action on his boss' Ruger M77 Hawkeye rifle that he dropped his nemesis.

Tony fell hard on the cushion, spitting blood. When he was sure Bubba was contained, he leaned forward and wiped his mouth across his knee.

"You got guts, Mate," Rawlings drawled. He shook his head in awe of the man's raw courage, or was it stupidity. "I'm going to make you an offer, Special Agent DiNozzo. I'm going to give you the opportunity to join my team. Who knows," he said, smiling, "you and Peter might even become friends."

Tony pushed himself back onto the leather cushioned bench using Ziva as leverage. "I doubt that."

"Here's my offer. Join my team and you get to live."

"You call that an offer?" he said, spitting more blood onto the floor of the million dollar yacht.

"Yes, I do. I don't often allow my prisoners to live."

"Okay. Consider me joined. Where do I sign?"

"It's not as simple as that, Matie. You have to prove yourself."

Tony shook his head, trying to assuage the pain of his nose and now throbbing headache. "How about as a good faith measure, you get Bubba to take these cuffs off."

"He will, as long as you do what I ask you to do."

"What's that?"

"I don't need all of you for my business transaction. In fact, I won't get paid for all of you. Since I don't like things complicated, I need to get rid of one of you. So, Agent DiNozzo, in order to join my team, you'll have to kill Dr. Mallard."

Tony looked up, surprised. "You've got to be kidding."

"I seldom kid during business deals."

"I'm not going to kill Ducky!"

"Then, mate, you will die."

Tony furrowed his brows and looked past Ziva to the doctor. If Ducky was afraid, he didn't show it. But Tony wasn't allowed much time to think about his situation because Bubba had once again picked him up by his lapels.

"I'm gonna enjoy putting a bullet in you," he sneered.

"Relax, Peter, this one is different," the Australian born pirate drawled. "He requires a different approach."

Gibbs had come up against a man like Rawlings only one other time in his life and his actions made a lasting impression. "Rawlings, who's paying you?"

The question had its intended affect; Rawlings turned his attention towards Gibbs. "If I told you the mate's name, you wouldn't believe me, which actually makes telling you that much more entertaining. His name is Calvin Mayberry now, but you knew him as Captain May, former commander of the USS Eisenhower. You do remember him, eh? You cost him his commission and forced him out of the Navy. He's doing some freelance work for some cartels in these parts, and I'm afraid he remembers you."

"I seem to recall the name. He had some psychological issues when I knew him."

Rawlings laughed, the kind of laugh that made his belly jiggle. "I s'pose you could say that. Personally, I don't know the mate all that well, but you don't have to know someone to do business with 'em, eh? He's willing to pay for your delivery and handsomely I might add. He even threw in a bonus for any of your team. The problem is he didn't specify how many of your team I needed to delivery. So, the way I read the contract is one is as good as five."

"If I were you, I'd renegotiate," Gibbs toned.

"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, Agent Gibbs. The deals been signed, so I can do what I please to any of you as long as I deliver you and at least one other." Returning his attention back to his favorite prisoner, he declared, "Like I was saying earlier, Peter, this one is different. He doesn't want to die."

"You got that right," Tony said, still being held in Bubba's grasp by his lapels.

"In fact," Rawlings said, "I find you particularly difficult to kill."

"I'm not going to stand in front of you with a bull's eye painted on my back if that's what you expect."

"No. But I would have preferred that you died when I tried to run you over or, at the very least, died when I took a shot at you, but you seem unusually lucky at avoiding death."

Tony looked down at Ziva and said, "Now do you believe me? I told you I almost got shot and run over!"

McGee said, "We thought you made that up."

"Some colleagues you have, eh? Don't even believe you when you tell them the truth. People like you tend to frustrate me?"

"I wouldn't take it personally… I tend to frustrate a lot of people."

"The big question is how to kill you? Slow and painful or slower and more painful?"

"If I have a say—"

"—Shutup!" Bubba sneered. "Can I do it now?"

Rawlings expression turned evil. "In a moment. I want him to understand what's going to happen. Agent DiNozzo, do you know why I hobble around on this wooden leg?"

"Fashion statement? But I have to tell you, it's not a good look—."

This time, Bubba didn't hold back and tossed his prisoner overboard in one swift motion.

"Tony!" Ziva yelled.

"Tony!" Gibbs and McGee said in unison. They all stood, but Rawlings fired his rifle into the air, "Sit down or I'll kill the lot of ya!"

Tony sputtered as the cold water enveloped his body, he saw nothing but blue, acclimated himself quickly and kicked his legs. As he breached the surface, he gasped for air.

Rawlings leaned over the side of his yacht and yelled, "This here's shark infested waters. If you're still alive by the time I've concluded by business, I'll swing back around and pick you up."

Ziva wrapped her foot around a white life preserver that was more for decoration than saving people and with a quick flip of her ankle, the device sailed overboard near her partner. Her actions landed her a backhanded slap from Bubba.

"Leave her alone!" Rawlings ordered. "It's not like that's gonna save him!" He leaned a little further over the side of the boat and yelled, "In case you were wondering, Special Agent DiNozzo, I lost my leg to a Great White!"

Tony sputtered, trying to kick his legs fast enough to keep his head above water. It was no easy task with about ten extra pounds of wet clothes to pull him under. But the challenge of keeping his head above water was made that much more difficult because he didn't have the use of his arms. They were still cuffed behind his back, forcing his legs to do all the work of keeping him from sinking.

"You can't leave him out here!" Gibbs exclaimed. Facing the Aussie, he pleaded, "I'll go wherever you want, just don't leave him."

Rawlings grinned, "You'll go wherever I want regardless." Motioning to Bubba, they heard the engines kick on and Rawlings gave a mock salute, "Goodbye, Agent DiNozzo."

Ducky looked on in horror as Tony struggled. He glanced at Gibbs whose horrified expression said it all. There was nothing he could do but watch his senior agent gasp for air while kicking frantically towards the round life preserver.

As the boat sped away, the last image they saw of their friend would be forever seared on their brains.

TBC

**Thanks to all who are reading/following this story. Hope you enjoy and (as always) any comments are welcomed and help to keep the writing muses working! ~~Jasmine**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the many reviews. It really helps me to keep going. ~Jasmine**

Chapter 2

Not a word had been spoken since it happened. The only emotion came from Ziva, and that was in the form of a single tear slipping down her face. She shut her eyes against the images that invaded her mind and kept her from thinking straight. Even if she overpowered these men, how would she ever be able to find him again? She told herself that he'd make it, that he'd find a way to survive because this is Tony and Tony always finds a way to survive. She wouldn't let her mind believe he was anything but safe. Those thoughts sustained her until the real thoughts slammed into her head and she felt the weight of his loss deep inside her heart.

McGee couldn't get the image of Tony struggling to keep his head above water out of his mind, either. Tony was a good swimmer, a strong swimmer, but treading water completely clothed without the benefit of arms was a feat not even an Olympic swimmer would want to undertake. How could he survive like that? He forced his calculating mind to go through each step Tony would have to take in order to survive. If it were at all possible, he was willing his friend to stay afloat with just his mind and the power of positive thought.

Gibbs stared at the carpeting on the boat. He knew that thinking about his agent was detrimental. He could do nothing for Tony and the distraction could possibly cost him his life as well as the lives of his colleagues. The reality was, however, he couldn't stop thinking about him. Tony had always been two steps ahead of the bad guy. Not this time. There's no way he could have seen that coming. No one saw that coming.

Rawlings was ruthless, and if they were going to survive, and if Gibbs was going to keep his people alive, he would need every ounce of mental acuity he had left. He pushed the images of his friend struggling to stay afloat into a crevasse inside his head, so far down that they shared the same head space with Kelly and Shannon, and he concentrated all his thoughts on surviving whatever this bastard had planned.

****8

Tony watched the boat speed away. He might have thought something of it except that all his concentration was on getting to that round floating ring. The problem was that once he reached it, he couldn't do anything with it. He grabbed the rope that encircled it between his teeth and decided he needed another tactic all together. He was never very good a floating in water; in fact, he usually sank, and he figured he had better lose the excess weight. He kicked off his shoes and watched them float to the surface. He wasn't sure if that helped any, but it hadn't hurt him none. Next, he had to try to get his arms in front of him. Flexibility was never his strong suit, but he had no choice. If he was going to survive, he had to get his arms out from behind his back. He tried several times but to no avail. What he did manage to get was a mouthful of salty water and more time spent under the surface than above it. He wasn't ready to throw in the towel, but he was running low on energy.

He had to rest. Panic was not an option if he wanted to stay alive. He told himself to take it one step at a time and figure out how he could best utilize the ring. _Focus, DiNozzo_, he said to himself. An idea came to him and he maneuvered the ring around so he could slide his foot over the rope and stand on it. Surprisingly, it offered just enough buoyancy to keep his head out of the water. He still had to balance on it, but at least he wasn't thrashing around anymore trying to tread water.

"Okay, Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, what's the plan?" He took in some deep breaths and looked around. For as far as the eye could see, it was blue sky and water everywhere. It didn't matter which direction he looked, it was the same picture.

It was time to try again. He'd seen magicians do it all the time. They simply dropped their shoulders and brought their hands under their butt and then slide their legs through and, whallah!, their hands were in front of them. The first several attempts got him nothing except exhausted. He rested again, talking to himself, "Okay, so you've never been very agile. That doesn't mean you can't do this. You scored 24 points in a playoff game once, so you can definitely do this." He tried again, and again he was unsuccessful. "Jesus, DiNozzo, you scored with Catherine Harrington at sixteen, so don't think that the job at hand is impossible!" Again he tried, but again he failed. Each time he perched precariously on the ring catching his breath.

He looked around again. Same scenery as before, and if he allowed it, he could easily become disoriented, confused, and perhaps panicky. "C'mon, Anthony, you've busted Mafia bosses and terrorists bent on mass destruction. You've caught cold blooded murderers and rapists. Hell, you've even gone undercover as a cross dressing hermaphrodite, so why can't you do this one small task?" No matter the pep talk, no matter how hard he tried, he still was unable to drop his arms low enough to get the lower half of his body through.

And then a thought occurred to him. He had a weak shoulder and it occasionally dislocated itself, an old football injury that usually popped out at the most inopportune times, but now he wondered if he could use that to his advantage. Before he could think too hard or too long about it and change his mind, he gave it one last attempt, only this time, he relaxed the muscles around his left shoulder. The pressure eventually caused it to pop out, and a scream would have escaped his lips except for the fact that he was deeply concentrating on squeezing his lower torso through a very small space while trying to avoid swallowing a gallon of water.

He did it! But in the process he had let go of the rope that tethered him to the ring, the only thing keeping him from sinking.

He reached out with his right arm and grabbed for it, screaming in pain as his left shoulder followed and sent jolts of burning pain through his already weakened body. As quickly as the waves and the ring and his body would allow, he pushed his shoulder back into its socket, only this time he let out a scream and a string of expletives as the pain became unbearable.

When it was all said and done, he was exhausted. He wrapped the rope around his arms and laid his head on the side of the ring. He just needed a few minutes to rest.

Given his situation, the irony was that he most likely had an eternity.

****8

Rawlings hobbled down the metal steps and stared at his prisoners.

"Ya'll look terrible. Don't worry about your mate, by now he's most likely a goner."

Gibbs looked up at him. It was the first time he looked away from the blue carpet that covered the floor. "You never leave a man at sea," he toned, quietly. It was an unwritten law of the waters and anyone who captained a vessel knew it.

"The average boat captain doesn't, but I'm not your average boat captain, Gibbs. I'm a pirate, and as a pirate of the high seas, I can tell you that I've left quite a few men at sea."

Gibbs looked away, back out across the water. He kept the painful thoughts of his agent at bay.

Rawlings didn't seem to be in any hurry to return to his captain's nest, nor did he seem to have a purpose. He just liked seeing his prisoners in pain. He pulled up a chair and sat down. "I never did get to finish my story about how I got this leg here. If you recall, Peter interrupted me when he tossed your agent overboard. So, how's 'bout I finish it now, eh?"

"I was swimming off the coast of Australia, like I did every afternoon, minding my own business when all of a sudden I felt a terrible pain, like someone had taken a baseball bat to my leg. When I looked down, I saw the nose of a great white shark with most of my leg in its mouth. What a sight… quite surreal I assure you. I fought the beast as best as I could—punching him right in the eye at one point, but he had a lock on me. By the time he let go, my leg was dangling by just a tendon."

He paused, enjoying their expressions. The fact was he had told this story many times, embellishing it in just the right places to solicit the most shock, but he never tired of seeing his audience's reactions. Satisfied, he continued, "My mates pulled me out of the water, but I don't remember much of what came next. When it was all said and done, I ended up losing my leg from the hip down. Changed my life forever."

Ducky picked up an anger in his voice that wasn't supported by his words.

Rawlings continued, "As I'm sure you can deduce, that's why they call me One-Leg now. Ah yes, it's a nickname I've grown to detest over the years. At first, it seemed appropriate, but as my life unraveled…" his voice drifted off as he deeply considered his existence. "One by one, things changed. First, I lost my job. Then my wife. And finally my mates. That's when I took to the water because she doesn't turn her back on you. She—" he cut himself off, realizing he was telling them more than he'd ever told anybody about himself. He collected his thoughts. "But the point of telling you this story is that I've spent a lot of time thinking about that moment and you know what I've come to realize? I realized that I was swimming where I shouldn't have been swimming. Wrong place, wrong time. Kind of like your agent, asking questions and investigating where he shouldn't have been. He's the kind of guy who doesn't give up, having developed an insatiable appetite for putting guys like me behind bars. And when you play in waters where sharks swim, you can expect to get eaten."

"Nice metaphor," Ducky said, "but it's his job to put away criminals."

"Yes, it's his job. But you want to know what I think? I think your agent is just smart enough and tenacious enough to go after me even after I'm long gone. And I can't have that. You see, I travel these waters extensively, making money where I can get it and I can't have him interfering with my livelihood. That's why I threw him off my boat. That and the fact that he stole the attention of a lady I was entertaining."

"You threw him overboard because of a woman?" McGee said, unable to mask the incredulity he felt.

"I've killed for less, mate. But yes, I didn't like the attention he was garnering from a prostitute I had legitimately bought. A man like your agent walks into a room and heads turn. It's hard enough for me as it is…I don't need the competition. Neither does my shipmate, Peter. He's the one who's really pissed off over it. Seems his lady couldn't stop talking about her glimpse of the federal agent."

"But enough about me," Rawlings continued. "Just after the sun sets, we'll be pulling into port. My business transaction will be conducted quickly, and then you'll be the problem of Captain May." He pulled a small but powerful handgun from the back of his pants and held it steady, gazing at it like it were some kind of juicy sirloin. He brought it up and aimed it directly at Ziva's head. "If any of you present a problem for me, I'll put a bullet in her pretty little head. Do I make myself clear, mates?"

The disdain in their eyes made him laugh. He slid the small caliber back down his belt and stood. Limping in a circle, he descended the stairs to the state rooms below. Gibbs returned his eyes to the carpet. What he forced through his brain was every possible reason Captain Mayberry would want him, and none of them had his, or his team's, best interest in mind.

****8

Tony floated, lifting his head only occasionally to see if the scenery had changed—all blue sky and blue water in every direction, still. The sun would soon be setting and he wondered just how long he could float before he no longer floated. He quickly pushed that thought aside in favor of other more pleasurable ones. He remembered that he was going out with Leslie for the first time this weekend. He hadn't decided where he was going to take her, but "Chez Francois," and "1776 of Georgetown" were in the running. If they went to "Chez Francois, they could just go downstairs to the lounge and enjoy an evening of dancing. If they went to "1776," they could take a romantic walk down M Street. No matter where he chose, when the evening was over, he would take her home. If she asked him in, then he would accept and gladly give her the attention her exquisitely shaped body deserved. He had seen her at the gym, having spent the better part of his workout admiring her from afar. Two visits later, he was asking her out, and to his surprise, she had accepted. Also to his surprise, he had learned that she was a lawyer working for the most prestigious firm in the city. He found himself really looking forward to his date with her. She reminded him of Jeanne Benoit, a strong woman with a smart head.

He looked across the horizon. The sun was sinking into the water and his shoulder throbbed. Maybe he could just close his eyes and this horror would all vanish. Maybe.

****8

The boat docked at a long pier off an island that in the moon light looked covered in vegetation. There had been very few lights and fewer buildings as they made their approach under the cover of darkness. With the exception of a small dingy, they were the only boat docked.

Peter stepped onto the pier first and walked purposefully towards a small hut. He returned a few minutes later and said, "They're ready for us."

"Good," Rawlings said. With Peter's help, he maneuvered out of the boat and up on the pier. He turned to his passengers and said, "One at a time, get out and follow me. Don't try anything or I'll be forced to shoot this beautiful agent, eh? Besides, this is a small island and you're not likely to escape." Off in the distance, there was the sound of a dog howling.

Gibbs got off first, followed by Ducky, Ziva and then McGee. They walked single file into the hut, only it wasn't such a small hut.

Captain Mayberry looked up from a map he'd been studying and smiled when he saw them approaching, displaying a row of white teeth. "It's been a long time, Agent Gibbs."

"Not long enough."

"I've been wanting to thank you for what you did for me ten years ago. If not for you, I would never have discovered my true passion."

"What's that?"

"Running shipments for drug cartels. It's dangerous work, but it pays more in one year than I made in all the years I worked in the Navy."

"What's this got to do with me?"

Mayberry deliberately folded his map and stood up. He was a short man, just barely making the height requirement for military service, but he stood erect and seemingly proud. "It seems one of the cartels in Mexico wouldn't mind getting their hands on one Leroy Jethro Gibbs. When I heard about it, I made a few calls and in the process made a few promises. It all fell into place so perfectly that I couldn't pass up the opportunity to satisfy one of my best clients."

"So you put a bounty on my head?"

"It was easier than that. In passing, One-Leg mentioned he was being harassed by Navy Feds. Seemed he even tried to kill one of your agents. I did some digging and discovered that you were the same Navy Feds that made my life so miserable. So I made One-Leg an offer. He delivers you to me, I deliver you to the drug cartel. Everyone wins here, except maybe you, my friend. You aren't going to fare so well, I'm afraid."

"What about them?" Gibbs said, ticking his head towards his friends.

"I'm not sure about them. When he told me he was bringing in five instead of one, I was surprised—," he stopped short upon counting the number of prisoners. "Hey, I thought you said you had five feds?"

One-Leg smiled, and then feigned embarrassment like the kid who ate the cake before he was supposed to. "I sort of tossed him overboard."

"You what?"

"You see, mate, he was what we call in Aussie land a FireMan. He sets the ladies' hearts on fire with all his charm and good looks. So we figure," he pointed to Peter and himself, "that he deserved to die. But aside from that, he was the Fed I was telling you about, the one I couldn't seem to kill. Well, I think I might have done it this time."

Mayberry listened with a degree of disgust. Even he, as a former Navy Captain, would never have done such a thing to another man. "Where?"

"About fifty miles off the tip of Key West, a favorite migrating path for great white sharks, I'm afraid," he grinned, extremely pleased with what he'd done.

"You're a sick man, Rawlings." Clicking his fingers, a man wearing camouflaged fatigues appeared from the shadows. "Pay him and then make sure he gets off the island unnoticed."

"Yessir." A briefcase was laid on the table, opened up and turned around. Inside were stacks of bundled US dollars.

Rawlings grinned and said, "It's been a real pleasure doing business with ya, mate!" He clicked it shut and handed it to Peter. Then he turned in a half-circle and started for the door. "Oh, by the way Agent Gibbs, I'll be going past the area where I left your boy. If I see 'em, I'll be sure to wave, eh?" A belly laugh followed and he turned and hobbled out the door. They could still hear his wooden leg as it pounded on the pier. Eventually, it became quiet.

"He's one sick bastard," Mayberry toned more to himself than anyone else. "I don't think he's been right in the head since the accident."

"That sounds like the pot calling the kettle black," Ducky said, attempting to tap into a strain of humanity if the former military man had any left.

"Dr. Mallard," Mayberry said, recognizing him. "I'm sorry you had to get caught up in all this. My client only wants Agent Gibbs, and that leaves me with the unfortunate task of deciding what to do with the rest of you. Maybe you'll be worth something to him, maybe not. If I were you, I'd hope the cartel wants me because I really have no use for any of you."

****8

The horizon had eaten up his sun long ago, his shoulder continued to ache, and there was nothing around him except trillions of gallons of water, the small ring he clung to, and a pathway of glistening water leading straight to the moon. Tony bobbed up and down, tranquil like until the occasional wave hit him just right, splashing him alert again; he shivered in the cool air. Without the sun overhead, it was downright cold. His stomach ceased being hungry long ago and he stopped thinking about Leslie shortly thereafter. His mind had turned to the inevitable: death. He wondered how his father would take the news. Thankfully, he had no one else to worry about. Without a wife or children, there would be no one to mourn his death. Gibbs, Ziva and Ducky would mourn him, of course. McGee and Abby too, but they'd move on, just like they had moved on after Kate's death.

How would he die? Would he just drift off the ring and sink? Would he die of thirst first, or dehydration? Or would what Rawlings said come true? He'd be eaten by a shark. Nobody would ever know how he died and amidst all the gruesome thoughts he was having now, the fact that nobody would know what happened to him was the most disturbing. He leaned his head on the ring, allowing the water to lap over his face and hair.

At what point does a man give up and let go?

But there was something building inside him. An anger that began on the boat, perhaps earlier. It took one cold son-of-a-bitch to throw a man overboard. It would have been more humane to put a bullet in him than to let him float to his inevitable doom. If by some miracle, he survived this, he made a vow to himself: he'd go after Rawlings if it was the last thing he did.

But for now, he'd have to content himself with sleep, or some semblance thereof. There weren't a whole lot of options available to him at this moment in time, but if he let it, he could vividly imagine his apartment and his bedroom and his bed.

****8

Mayberry moved his prisoners to the small dingy tethered to the pier. "It's going to be crowded but I couldn't risk having Captain Rawlings dock on the bigger island of Andros."

"Andros?" McGee whispered. "As in Andros Island? The island where the Navy conducts underwater weapons testing?"

"The very one. It's beautiful actually. I've been docking here for almost a year and they are none the wiser. All the military activity takes place on the north and east sides of the island. That's where all the military vessels dock and the testing is done. The west side of the island is virtually deserted and nobody believes that anyone would come ashore because it's a military base for weapons! It's actually brilliant!"

Like a lawnmower, Mayberry pulled the string to start the small engine. After several attempts, it caught and he steered the aluminum boat away from the pier. He kept it close to the shoreline for most of the trip until he suddenly veered away from the small island and headed into open waters. Thirty minutes later, the lights of a larger island became visible as they neared Andros. There were no docks on the island so Mayberry steered the boat right up on the beach before he cut the engine and tilted the small outboard engine up into the dingy. Jumping out, he pulled it further up onto the beach. "Get out!" he whispered with authority.

With difficulty, they each managed to step out of the boat and onto the sandy beach. Then Mayberry pulled the boat all the way up to the vegetation and proceeded to cover it with debris.

"Walk," he ordered.

The deep sand, tough vines, thick vegetation and unseen puddles made the path arduous to traverse especially since their hands were still cuffed behind their backs. Gibbs led the way and would periodically glance over his shoulder. He was relieved to see that Ducky was keeping up. No telling what a man like Mayberry would do if one of them fell behind. If he was anything like Rawlings—the thought was almost too awful to contemplate. Losing another man wasn't—couldn't interfere with his thinking right now. He forced himself to practice his own theory of not proclaiming someone dead until he had factual proof of it.

"That's far enough," Mayberry whispered. "Get down!"

They fell to their knees into the deep sand as they were ordered to do. Mayberry cupped his hands around his mouth and let out a low whooshing sound, the kind a frog might make. He listened, seemingly disappointed in what he didn't hear.

He cupped his hands again and repeated the sound.

"Welcoming committee isn't here to receive us?" Gibbs needled, wondering how Mayberry would adjust his plans.

"Shutup!" he spat. Once more, he cupped his hands and made the noise. Finally, the same sound came back to him. Smiling, he jerked his head, "Get moving. I don't have all night. I have to be off this island before the sun comes up."

****8

Tony dreamed that there were people around him. It was a pleasant dream and he didn't want to wake up from it. One was a beautiful blonde. Leslie. Yes, it was Leslie he was looking at. He even said her name, but she must not have heard. He dreamed of a cool beer sliding down his throat and tasting so good after so long. He dreamed of a soft mattress and satin sheets and quiet conversation.

The water lapped over him and his body undulated with each passing wave. Maybe it was time. Maybe it was time that he should just let go and see where fate would take him.

And he did.

The ring floated away and he watched it bobble up and down. A soothing rhythmic motion encompassed his body and moved him from side to side. The cold air had dissipated and he was warm again. There was nothing but blackness and eternity ahead of him until that face—that horrible image—popped into his head, and all he saw was hate and vengeance.

And the triangular shape of a dorsal fin.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Gibbs was suddenly overwhelmed by a strange feeling in his gut. He hesitated, but a shove to his back forced him forward. "Keep going, Agent Gibbs. This will soon be over."

The path now was easier to walk. The sand wasn't so soft and the thick vegetation was gone. Another quarter mile and they arrived to a clearing that contained an arched metal building, better known in the military as a Quonset hut. Mayberry pushed open the door and dispensed with the greetings and got straight down to business.

"Is the chopper ready?"

The man nodded, but Gibbs picked up on something about his demeanor.

Oblivious to anything that didn't deal with money, Mayberry continued, "We got the clearance to take off?"

Another stiff nod.

"Pilot's on board?"

Mayberry already knew the answer and didn't wait for a nod. But by turning away, he also missed his partner's odd behavior. Gibbs thought if Mayberry had been a little more aware of his surroundings and a little less focused on getting off the island, he might have picked up on the man's somewhat strange conduct.

Turning to Gibbs, Mayberry snarled, "Soon you'll be out of my hair and on your way to Mexico."

"This is a military building. You really think you're going to fly us off this island without being noticed?" Gibbs asked.

Mayberry laughed. "That's the best part. The military is working _with_ me! You see, I learned a while back that these chopper jockeys are risk takers in every sense of the word. So I made one of 'em an offer. They don't have to do anything except turn their heads to the extra cargo they'll be carrying. The pilots will do their scheduled flights as per orders, they'll even refuel on the island of Korkos. While they're filling out paperwork, we slip off. They're considerably richer while I and my cargo get on another plane that will fly us to Mexico." He paused a moment to relish in the thought of his perfectly laid plans and then added, "It's brilliant…I'm brilliant! And now I'm gonna be rich!"

"Except you didn't plan on getting caught," a feminine voice interjected, piercing the air.

Mayberry swung around at the intrusion. From out of the darkness, he watched Coast Guard Investigator Abigail Borin approach. She wore her hair pulled back in a bun, a black CGIS jacket and dark pants. Her rubber soled shoes barely made a sound as she walked. She didn't carry a gun.

"Drop your weapon, Captain Mayberry," she said, "and you just might live to testify on your own behalf."

Mayberry's brain was searching for ways to make sense of this. A lone woman he'd never seen before was telling him what to do? He could shoot her where she stood.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Captain Mayberry," she chastised. Then she ticked her head and the far lights came on revealing an unbelievable sight.

"As you can see," Borin spoke quietly and deliberately, "we have everyone who has ever helped you with your smuggling operation in custody. Take a good look," she said, offering him the opportunity to look over at the pilots kneeling on the floor with their hands clasped firmly behind their heads. Twice as many Coast Guard agents were standing around, some with their automatic rifles trained on the kneeling prisoners, others with their weapons trained on him.

"What have you done!" Mayberry toned.

"Isn't it obvious? We're shutting you down." She held up her badge and said, "I'm Special Investigator Abigail Borin, CGIS, and you're under arrest."

Borin looked past Mayberry's dumbfounded expression at Gibbs and his team and if she were surprised, she masked it well, "Good morning, Special Agent Gibbs. I didn't expect that you were going to _be_ his cargo, but sometimes the stars just align with good fortune." Returning to address her prisoner, she said, "You see, Mayberry, at least now my evidence can speak. Unless," she turned back to Gibbs, "you were going with him willingly? We might have a problem if that was the case."

Gibbs shook his head, feeling antsy, "No. We were not going willingly."

Borin ticked her head and two of her men swooped down on Mayberry, disarming him and placing him in handcuffs. Two more agents began the task of cutting the cuffs off Gibbs and his team.

McGee thanked the agents, "It's good to see you guys. Really good."

"What in the hell are you doing here?" Borin asked, allowing her surprise to finally catch up. "I knew he was transporting something big, but I had no idea it was going to be you!"

"Long story, but we need to send out a rescue ship to find someone."

She cocked her head and looked at him perplexed.

"DiNozzo was thrown overboard about 50 miles off the tip of Florida."

Borin looked at their anxious faces, seeing how they were holding out hope. She came perilously close to telling them what she knew to be true in situations like this, but something stopped her. Maybe it was their expression of optimism, or maybe it was Gibbs' expression of desperation that kept her silent.

"I'll set up the search."

****8

The sun was high in the sky by the time they reached the area fifty miles off the tip of Key West. Gibbs, Ziva and McGee had all refused medical treatment in favor of joining the search party. Gibbs had already asked Ducky to return to NCIS and fill in the Director on what had happened. It was true that he'd already spoken to Vance, but there was much that hadn't been said in the short conversation they'd had. Standing near the railing of the Coast Guard's search vessel, Gibbs looked over the water.

The task was daunting.

With binoculars, he scoured the waters. Ziva and McGee did the same. The 87-foot Coastal Patrol Boat was the premier search and rescue vessel of the United States Coast Guard, and it had been successfully deployed more often than not in rescuing people who found themselves in a life or death situation. If he believed in luck, then this boat was the one to be on. Its engines slowed to a mere crawl on the relatively calm waters.

Above, an HH-65C Dolphin helicopter made a pass. Its bright colors could be seen from a long ways off. Further out, an HC-130 plane circled slowly, methodically. On the horizon, the USCGC Munro, a 378-foot high endurance Coast Guard cutter was patrolling the waters, using every available piece of on-board equipment to find a lone man left for dead in the deep.

The Captain issues orders, "Power up the XTC-340." Casting a sideways glance at Gibbs, Borin explained, "If there are traces of heat from a human, the XTC-340 will pick it up. We can then follow the heat trail." Turning her attention back to the bridge, she heard the Captain order, "Disperse the grid. I want a safety net cast on this one." She turned and explained again, "We divide the water into a grid and search each area. The safety net ensures that our victim doesn't move from an unsearched area into a searched area without our knowledge."

Gibbs nodded and said, "Thanks."

"A federal agent's down. There's no limit to our resources when that happens. If Special Agent DiNozzo is out here, we'll find him."

He nodded appreciatively and then resumed his position on the bow with his binoculars.

****8

The day passed slowly. Gibbs remained steadfast in his search, seldom lowering the glasses for longer than a minute. Ziva continued to scour the area as well, but she saw no signs of Tony. McGee kept a lookout, but he seemed more resigned to the truth than anyone else. They searched in silence.

In the distance, they could hear Borin issuing orders and plotting strategy. She wasn't about to give up and neither was anyone else. The men and women of the Coast Guard lived for this moment, and they didn't plan on calling off their search until they had checked every nautical mile of the ocean. It was early evening when Borin came to the bow and sat down, the fatigue wearing heavy on her face.

Ziva was afraid to ask her any questions for fear that she would say something she didn't want to hear. McGee looked out over the ocean at what should have been a beautiful sight of turquoise blue water sprinkled with dancing flashes of sunlight, but he grew tired of the waterscape and the vast hopelessness it provided.

Borin said, "We're about one third through the search grid. We started at the point you thought he went into the water and expanded from there. Based on ocean currents and wind speed, we will have searched those areas by morning. We'll continue searching until we've found him or completed the grid."

A questioning expression on Gibbs' face lead her to answer him. "We'll be done searching the grid in 48 hours."

Gibbs looked over at the setting sun, knowing it was mimicking his own heart as it sunk inside his chest. He tried to push those thoughts aside, but with each passing hour, it was getting damn near impossible to believe that Tony had survived being adrift in the open water with nothing but a plastic ring to stay afloat. No one wanted to say it because no one wanted to believe it. It was Tony after all. Anthony DiNozzo always came through, no matter what the circumstances. But no matter how much they forced that thought, the reality was staring them squarely in the face: nobody could survive these waters.

****8

"Do you want to go back?" Borin asked.

Gibbs put down his binoculars, his eyes puffy from strain and his neck burned by the rays. The sun had long since set and the only light was coming from a 1000 watt florescent spotlight that oscillated across the water.

"We're not giving up," Borin continued. "If he's in these waters and alive, we'll find him."

"What if he's not?"

She sighed. The chance of DiNozzo being alive at this point was slim and the chance of him being on the ocean floor was slimmer. There was little reason to initiate a sonar search if the surface search produced nothing.

Ziva and McGee listened, still hanging onto that small thread of hope. Ziva offered, "Maybe someone already picked him up. That's possible, isn't it?"

Borin nodded, "It's possible, Agent David. We've been contacting the owners of vessels who've logged their travel itineraries with the local marinas. It's tedious work and some owners don't bother to register their routes, but we're contacting everyone who left port in the southeast and passed through these waters." She paused, and then added, "We'll be putting his picture up as well." She hoped her words were comforting, but she'd been in this situation before and she had learned long ago that words rarely offered the comfort that was needed.

****8

The bullpen was empty save for one Leroy Jethro Gibbs sitting at his desk. He just stared at DiNozzo's empty chair. If he replayed the scenario in his head once, he replayed it a thousand times. It may have been a childish thought, but what he wanted most in the world right now was to see his senior field agent again. He would give his soul to the devil if that man, the one he recruited eight years ago and who had grown into the best damn field agent he'd ever known, if he would just walk into the bullpen right now and throw his pack down, stow his weapon and make some quip about the weather.

"Gibbs?"

He was barely aware of someone's presence, but standing in front of his desk were Ziva and McGee. "Yeah?"

"It is time. They are waiting for us."

Gibbs nodded his head, trying to find places for all the thoughts he was having at that moment. He didn't want to go, but he had to go. He didn't want to accept it, but he had to accept it. He didn't want to move on, but he had to move on. Just like Kelly and Shannon. Not as easy to murder a man in Australia as it was in Mexico.

"Gibbs?"

Snapping out of his thoughts, he stood up. "Yeah, okay. I'm ready."

Ziva and McGee shared a worried look. It had been almost two weeks since Tony had gone missing and it was now time to announce the missing NCIS agent to the public. The Director and the Secretary of the Navy had purposefully kept the news quiet, away from the media and other agencies, so that they could exhaust all possible leads. But as the days turned into weeks, it became apparent that DiNozzo wasn't coming back. With the announcement would come the numerous news teams wanting interviews and details. But Gibbs' focus was only on one person at this point: Duggard "One-Leg" Rawlings.

He endured the news conference.

****8

"Martha? Come down here! I think he's coming around."

Martha Caldwell made her way below deck. She was a woman in her sixties, but she looked much older due to her dark leathery skin, small frame, and thin white hair that she wore pulled back in a bun. Anyone just looking at her might have put her well into her seventies, but then she would walk and move around the boat and her agility and balance would throw them for a loop.

She stared down at the man who had spent the better part of a week moving in and out of consciousness in one of the two bedrooms they had on their boat. "Did he say anything?" she asked.

"Nope. But he's been moving around, which is more than he's been doing," Nelson said. Nelson Caldwell, her husband of forty-two years and a retired physician, had spent most of his career as an emergency room doctor. He was tall with a full head of white hair and the same dark leathery skin as his wife. He'd graduated at the top of his class from Harvard Medical School and made his millions not as a medical doctor, but as an inventor. He had patented several items that he thought would make a physician's life easier and now these very items were staples in numerous hospitals across the country. The royalties alone eclipsed his regular salary and his regular salary put him in the top ten percent of the highest paid professionals according to US and World News Magazine. But at heart, he was just a down home boy who'd made it good in the big city. Dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts and some well-worn dockers, his skin drooped over his frame and his chest hairs blazoned white as he stared down on his patient, hopeful about his recovery.

They had kept him alive by having supplies that no ordinary boaters would have carried, like IVs and IV bags, sutures, supplements, and a host of other medical paraphernalia that only a doctor and a registered nurse would have thought to bring on board.

"Hey, young feller," Nelson said. A gentle rub on his shoulder and another greeting just might do it, "Good morning, young man. Are you feeling better?"

Tony fluttered his eyes open, confused by his surroundings. Even more confused by his body feeling like it was covered in lead. He tried to move but it felt all wrong.

"Where am I?" he mumble, his voice raspy.

Martha patted her husband's arm, excited that the young man was speaking. "You're on The Pegasus. And my name is Martha and this is my husband, Nelson. We rescued you from the water. Do you remember that?"

Tony tried to swallow but there wasn't enough saliva in his mouth to unstick his tongue from the roof. He felt a wet rag being pushed on his lips, and he gladly accepted the moisture. The cool liquid felt heavenly against his parched tongue and soon there was more liquid filling his mouth. He swallowed but even that hurt. Eventually, he choked and coughed up some of the water.

"Too much at once," Martha said. "I should have stayed with the wet towel."

Nelson nodded his head. He may have been the top doc on the East Coast, but he readily deferred to his wife when it came to the everyday care of patients. "We should get him up again. I'm worried about pneumonia setting in."

Together, the couple pulled off the blanket and gently swung the young man's legs around.

"Wait," Tony said, still trying to understand if he was in the company of friend or foe. "Who are you again?"

"We are the Caldwells from Annapolis, Maryland. We know that you have a lot of questions and we'll answer them all for you eventually, but right now we'd like you to move around a little."

Tony tried to accommodate the request, but his body felt like it had been cast in cement. When they finally got him upright and standing, he wanted to take a step, but his foot weighed a hundred pounds and the rest of his body felt paralyzed.

"What's wrong with me?"

"Do you remember anything?"

Tony looked down on the petite woman. She barely came up to his chest and he wondered how she was holding him upright. "No."

She pushed him gently with her hand and he shuffled his feet. That's when he saw how he was dressed. He wasn't wearing anything but a pair of boxers and a bracelet on each wrist, although the bracelets gave him an uneasy feeling and he suddenly became very wary and stiff.

"C'mon, young feller. Just to the wall and back and then you can get back in bed."

There was something in his voice that put him at ease. Everything about his current situation was nonthreatening, but there was something that niggled at his head, making him cautious and hesitant.

"You're doing very well," she said. "Keep the pace slow and steady."

He took small steps, past a black lacquered dresser and small black chair. There was no room for them to turn in a circle so they just turned him around. That's when he saw how they were holding him up. A towel was wrapped around his torso and he was actually being supported by it. The bed looked to be a mile away, but he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the next until he was finally able to sit down again.

"He's getting some color back in his face," Martha noticed.

The man nodded his head as they lowered him back onto the mattress.

"Did you say we were on a boat?" Tony asked, although his voice was still raspy.

"Yes. We call her The Pegasus after the Greek mythologies. She's been real good to us and our travels."

Tony lay back, feeling the ache in his side, head, arms, and legs. This pain should have meant something to him but he couldn't pinpoint it. It would come to him when he wasn't so tired, he told himself. He closed his eyes and without intending to, he fell back into another deep slumber.

Martha looked at her husband. She had desperately hoped he would have given them some piece of information that would identify him, but he hadn't. And Nelson could read her mind.

"We have the gun where we can get to it if he turns out to be trouble. And right now, he's too weak to hurt a flea, so we can relax a little."

"I wish we didn't have to cut those handcuffs."

Her husband held up a small black bag and reminded her, "If we need to, we can sedate him until we get to the authorities. So don't worry; whatever his story is, we can handle it."

She smiled at her husband. One of the things she loved about him was that he thought two and three steps ahead of her. She admired his ability to balance his desire to save a life with his need to understand the circumstances. Without a staff of medical personnel to take care of that sort of thing, they had to be all people at once: care giver as well as information collector. They would know his story soon enough. She patted his hand and they moved topside to enjoy the open seas that was taking them south to the beautiful island of Aruba.

****8

Ziva stared at her monitor. The announcement from Secretary Jarvis brought more questions than answers and she hadn't felt the closure that she had hoped she would. She just couldn't accept that Tony was dead and never coming back. The last image of him desperately swimming to the ring that she had flung overboard to him was etched on her eyeballs and she wished to God she could see him doing something else besides fighting to survive. She would never know if he actually reached it or if he died of exhaustion trying. She looked across the aisle at his empty desk, feeling the loss so profoundly that she couldn't sit there one more minute. But if she was feeling the pain, the woman standing before her must have been experiencing it ten times worse.

"Paula?" Ziva said, surprised by her sudden appearance.

"Is it true?"

Ziva lowered her head, not being able to bring herself to say the words.

"Is he dead?" Paula asked.

McGee approached slowly. He had watched her walk off the elevator and knew by her expression that she was as devastated by the loss as anyone. He felt like he should at least help Ziva formulate an answer. "He's missing. We don't have confirmation that he's anything other than that."

"When the news hit our office, I had to read it over and over again. I'm still finding it difficult to believe. You know, I always thought he'd be here."

"I think we all did," he continued, hoping he wasn't speaking too much for the others. "We're all still in a state of shock."

"I never got to tell him how I feel," she whispered to no one in particular.

McGee thought about all the words that were never going to be said again, and all the insults that were never going to be spewed, and he was suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of loss. He returned to his desk as there was nothing more for him to say. He couldn't very well offer comfort to others when he needed it himself. He stared at his monitor and when he looked up again, they were both gone.

****8

This time, the pain he felt in his side wouldn't abate, and Tony couldn't get comfortable. By the time he opened his eyes and realized it wasn't a dream, the pain had taken a hold of him full throttle and he yearned for relief. The gentle rocking of his bed combined with the tremendous ache in his side made it difficult for him to sit up, but he pulled on a two week reserve of energy to force his legs over the side of the bed. In the dim light, he could barely make out where he was, but he had a vague memory of a small room with black furniture. Fumbling around, he touched a table. He continued moving his hand until he felt a wall switch and pressed. The room filled with soft incandescent light and his eyes contracted, giving him a head surge of pain.

After a minute, he was able to focus. He saw a white bandage around his mid-section that started just below his chest and ended just above his hips. He touched it, wondering what sort of injury he had that warranted such a body wrap. Underneath the gauze and on his left side (the side that hurt like hell), he could feel a larger pad that made the wrapping protrude slightly. Looking further, he saw that he had cuts on his legs and arms but they must not have been bad because they didn't warrant any type of covering. He finally rested his right hand on his left shoulder, gently messaging it. It hurt like hell and he had no idea what he'd done to it. In the process, he noticed the silver bracelets on each wrist, not the kind that made a fashion statement either, but the kind that came connected by three or so linked chains, one of which had obviously been cut. Flashes would flit through his brain as he tried to remember why he was wearing them, but nothing stayed for very long and he had no recollection of being handcuffed. He tossed off the blanket and saw the white boxers. Finally, something that he actually remembered. But upon further inspection, he realized that they weren't even his.

Pushing off the bed, he stood, or tried to. His legs were weaker than he anticipated, and as a result, he toppled sideways onto the table and then backwards onto the bed again. He winced in pain and was convinced he had no idea which place on his body actually hurt more.

"Hey there, young feller," came the sonorous voice of the old man. "You shouldn't be trying to walk on your own just yet."

"Let's take a look at that bandage," Martha said.

"Wait," Tony started, his voice still raspy, "I'm not sure who you are or where I am..."

"There's plenty of time to get acquainted" she replied. "We haven't kept you alive for this long to have you go and undo all our hard work."

Tony let her check the bandages. She even lifted each eye lid and inspected his pupils. "You feel warm, but that could just be due to the exertion. How're you feeling?"

"I don't know. I hurt. I can't remember. Who are you?"

Martha pressed a cool damp cloth to his head and she came prepared this time with a small bucket of ice chips. "Here, you had better chew on these."

He gladly took them. The cold and wet moisture felt good. At least it took away the cotton mouth that seemed to be the norm anymore. "Who are you?"

"I'm Martha and this is my husband, Nelson. We found you floating in the ocean."

"Not really floating," Nelson corrected, "more like floundering. In case you don't remember, a shark was circling…well, several sharks were circling and one even nipped you. We came along just in time; otherwise, I'm afraid you'd have been a nice snack."

Tony felt his side. The story seemed almost too outrageous to be true, but somehow he believed it.

"Do you remember anything?" Martha asked.

Tony tried. He forced his brain to concentrate but he only caught snippets of images as they flitted across his mind. He shook his head slowly.

"Well, that's okay," she said, patting his arm. "You just take it easy and it'll all come back to you eventually."

He looked at her enthusiasm skeptically.

On an off-chance that he remembered something, Nelson decided to ask, "So…what's your name?"

"I'm—" he opened his mouth, but said nothing further. It was obvious he was searching for information that just wasn't there. "I'm…"

Nelson patted his leg, paternal like. Without saying a word, Tony felt like it was okay that he didn't know the answer.

Martha added, "You just relax now. I'll bring you some more soup. You seem to like it and it seems to like you."

Once alone, Tony tried to come to some peace about his situation. He was on a boat, wounded, with people he didn't know. And he had no idea how he got there or who he was or how it all happened. But for some inexplicable reason, he didn't seem afraid. He knew he had to take it slowly and let the lost information come to him. Like putting together a puzzle; the full picture isn't always realized until all the pieces are connected. This thought comforted him. For whatever reason, he now felt better equipped to handle his situation.

****8

Tony woke up to the old woman sitting next to him on the bed.

"Martha?" he said quietly, not sure if he remembered her name correctly.

"Yes, young man. Good morning. How did you sleep last night?"

He nodded his head, "Okay, I guess."

"I know that you have many questions—as do we—but before you begin with them, let's get you up and moving about. What do you say to that?"

He lifted his one good shoulder and shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

She helped him sit up and when he did, he noticed what he was wearing again. This time, he looked closer at the fabric. "These aren't mine."

"No, I had to give you one of my husband's."

"These are Grigioperla."

She raised her brows at his knowledge. Not many people would know the brand of underwear they were wearing, and even fewer people would know the lingerie maker La Perla. "You're familiar with the brand?"

He nodded, but he couldn't explain why he was familiar with them. "You said we're on a boat?"

"Yes, The Pegasus. We named her years ago when we first bought her. She's been very good to us. C'mon, I want to take you topside."

It was slow going, but she helped him across the room and then up the steps. He found himself standing on an open deck at the rear of the boat, shielding his eyes from the bright sun.

"Good morning, young feller," Nelson said from a lounge chair. "It's another beautiful day in the Caribbean. Won't you join us?" He stood, handed his wife a tomato based drink and the young man bottled water.

Tony looked around. For as far as the eye could see, there was water, deep azure with large patches of turquoise covering the earth. The early morning sun shone brightly off to his right and the deck was hot under his bare feet. He sat down in a chair and took the bottle. It tasted good. "Where are we?"

"Somewhere in the southern Caribbean."

"And you are…"

"Nelson. Dr. Nelson Caldwell.

"You're a doctor?"

"Retired. My wife and I take this trip each year, with variations, of course. We set sail out of Annapolis, Maryland, where our Pegasus is berthed, and head south. We like to follow the coastline down, which takes a couple of days, but we don't ever move too fast; no reason to. And of course we have our favorite drinking holes where we like to stop and stock up on supplies and visit with old friends and acquaintances. Sometimes we'll swing out to Bermuda, but we didn't do that this trip—good thing, too, because we would never have come across you if we had. It was when we were passing through the Keys that we plucked you out of the water. And not a second too soon, either."

Tony touched his side.

"After you joined us, we trolled through the Gulf of Mexico, slid through the opening between Mexico and Cuba, dropped anchor off Grand Cayman for a day, dropped anchor again in Jamaica, and now we're trolling the open seas towards Aruba. Beautiful island. One of the prettiest I think."

"Too windy for me," Martha said, taking a sip of her Bloody Mary. "I prefer the serenity of the Lesser Antilles like St. Maartin or the Virgin Islands."

Tony rubbed the back of his head and felt his face. All the stubble made him itch and all the sunlight made his eyes hurt, but it was his teeth that felt the worst. If it were possible, it felt like a layer of fuzz had taken root in his mouth and he'd need a water-pick to blast through it. On top of all that, the ever present sore shoulder and headache added to his bit of misery.

"You should drink your water. You need to stay hydrated," Nelson said, nodding at the bottle he was still holding.

The cool liquid felt good but it was difficult to swallow. His throat was sore and his voice still raspy. The chair he sat in was cushioned with a thick blue pad, almost as blue as the water itself. With the exception of the cushions, everything else was a bright white. Even though he couldn't see the rest of the boat, he knew she was big. The deck alone could comfortably seat eight with enough room for two tables.

He sighed, none of what he was seeing or hearing was helping him. He tried to pay attention, but his mind arced in unfamiliar directions. In an effort to calm his brain, he inspected his body. The cuts and scrapes were still prevalent although they seemed to be healing okay. "Did you find any identification on me?"

Nelson shook his head, "Nope. It looked like you might have been wearing a suit, and you can thank your lucky stars if you were. It was quite shredded: sharks don't see too well, you know. We kept what we could, but there's not enough fabric to make out anything."

Martha continued, "In the meantime and until we can get you some clothes, you'll have to be content with Nelson's boxers. And, here," she handed him a bottle, "put this on. This hot Caribbean sun will sizzle your skin."

Tony did what he was told but he had more questions than they had answers. "You said you pulled me out of the water near Florida?"

"Yes. About fifty miles off the tip of the Keys. Do you remember how you came to be out there?"

Tony rubbed his head again, trying to think. But it was no use; he had no memory of why he was here, who he was, or how it came to be that he was floundering in the ocean. "Did you find anything on me?"

"Just the shredded clothes on your back." Martha went over to a box and opened it. She pulled out several pieces of fabric and brought it to him.

He studied them. It looked like it could have once been a suit and the white fabric might have once been a dress shirt, but why would he be wearing a suit out on the water? His head began to hurt. "What about these?" he asked, holding up his wrists.

Martha deferred to Nelson, who scratched his head before saying, "Well, you were handcuffed. We couldn't treat you with them on, so I cut the chain, which was no easy task, young feller. Made of good old fashioned carbon steel, I think."

Tony leaned back, feeling a bit overwhelmed by what he was learning. Mostly, his felt empty, like his head consisted of a vast black hole with nothing inside, but there were moments when it felt like the information was just out of reach, just on the other side of some barrier, and if he could just somehow get to it…

"Take it easy there, young man. You've had a very traumatic experience, and sometimes our minds will protect ourselves from certain events. The harder you try to remember, the harder your brain tries to protect you."

Tony wanted to oblige the doctor, but he wanted desperately to know who he was. He just couldn't turn it off; he just couldn't stop trying.

Martha took the bottle of sunscreen and drizzled it on his back. While rubbing it in, she said, "I once treated a man who had spent five days lost in the wilderness. He went in with his life's memories and came out with nothing. Nobody ever found out what happened in those woods to make him forget everything, but it was evident from his condition that whatever it was, it had been pretty bad. His mind just up and blocked it out; unfortunately, it also blocked out everything else. But there's a happy ending to this story. About three months later, he woke up one day remembering everything."

Nelson smiled at her, not sure if the story was made up or if it actually happened, but she was an expert at putting her patients' minds to rest and he enjoyed watching her work.

"In the meantime," she said, "I like the name Vincent. It's a nice Italian name and I do believe you're Italian?"

Tony shrugged, surprised by her spirit and enthusiasm.

"You must be. You knew you were wearing Grigioperlas, and if that doesn't say Italian, I don't know what does!"

"Vincent it is, then," Nelson said, chuckling. "Now, as your physician, I'm recommending that you get some more rest. Your memory doesn't have a prayer of returning if you don't. And I'm no psychiatrist, but I know from years of experience that I can heal any broken bone, repair any damaged organ, and even keep someone alive who's clinically dead, but it's all for not if the brain isn't well enough to take over."

Tony had to agree. Somewhere in his past he knew a lot of things about a lot of things. Not that it was doing him much good right now, but he nodded reluctantly at the old man and then let Martha help him up and below deck and back to bed.

****8

McGee glanced at the empty desk and then over to Ziva. She hadn't stopped looking at it since they'd returned. He checked his email again and then pulled up some programs that he were running in the background of his computer in an attempt (perhaps a futile attempt) to locate their colleague. To his surprise, he had something.

"Ah, I think the authorities in Florida may have found something."

Ziva pushed back her chair and came up behind McGee. "What did they find?"

"I just got a report that some articles of clothing were found washed up on shore in southern Miami."

"Call them! See if it could be Tony's?"

McGee picked up the phone and reached the Miami-Dade County police department. After identifying himself, he spent the next five minutes being transferred from department to department.

"What is wrong, McGee?" Ziva asked, impatiently.

"It seems nobody has heard of the discovery, at least nobody that I've been transferred to so…" his voice trailed off upon seeing the woman before him.

"—I might be able to help you with that," CGIS Agent Borin said, standing in front of his desk.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you come in," McGee stammered, gladly hanging up the phone.

"Where's Gibbs?"

"Right here," he said, gliding around the partition and towards her.

She placed a brown bag on his desk to which he stared at it.

"Lunch?"

"Not exactly. Inside are Special Agent DiNozzo's shoes, pants, and wallet. Also, there is a small piece of white plastic, presumably from the plastic life ring that you described. They washed up in Southern Miami. I had them shipped to my lab where we confirmed what we had."

Gibbs made no attempt at opening the bag. He looked at it, shifted from foot to foot, and remained silent.

"I'm sorry, Agent Gibbs. So far, nothing else has washed ashore."

"I won't believe he's dead until I have a body," Gibbs said.

Borin looked forlornly down at the bag and almost inaudibly stated, "There were two shark's teeth embedded in the plastic ring. They were from a Tiger shark."

Gibbs visibly paled for he knew what Borin knew and that was a Tiger shark was more aggressive than a Great White and is not willing to leave an unfinished meal. Even with that information, he didn't believe his agent was dead. He wouldn't believe it.

He refused to believe it.

He believed that he had to do what he was trained to do and what he was good at doing, and that was solving this case. Because if he ever learned that Tony was dead, then he'd go to that place in his head where he shouldn't go, and that was a dangerous place for everyone involved, but especially so for one peg-legged Australian.

TBC

**Thanks for the comments and encouragement. I'm writing my fingers off trying to get this revised and edited. Every time I read it, I seem to find mistakes so my thanks go out to those of you who are patiently going through it. Enjoy! ~~Jasmine**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Tony lay in bed, swaying to the gentle rocking of the boat. He had grown accustomed to the movement and he no longer felt nauseated by it. He would lie for hours trying to remember. But no matter how hard he tried, he always came up empty. However frustrating that was, he had that feeling that everything was just out of reach; just on the outskirts of his brain. He scoured every inch of his own body thinking a birthmark or a scar might jog his memory, but there was nothing. The ache in his shoulder was the closest thing he had to a clue, but it was more a feeling than a memory. He injured it playing sports, of that he was pretty certain, but he couldn't remember which sport or how long ago.

As he lay there, he wondered how a person goes about reconstructing a life. He didn't have so much as a starting point. He didn't know his name, what state he came from or how old he was, if he was married, a father, or someone's son… For that matter, he couldn't be certain that he was even a decent guy. There were times when his thoughts were dark, foreboding, and angry. And there were other times when he caught flickers of death and deceit that seemed just as much a part of his life as the sports injury.

Being found in the middle of some ocean didn't give him much to go on either, but he did have one thing. He had some clothes, but he didn't know what to do with them. In the far recesses of his brain, he felt they could be important, like information could be gleaned from just a small piece, but how is that done? And how does one go about finding someone who could do it?

Maybe Martha and Nelson could help him. So could…

There it was again; a face so clear in his mind's eye that he should have been able to say his name, but the face vanished before a name could be formulated. He crawled out of bed and made his way topside. The Caldwells were doing what they always did when he arrived: reclining in lounge chairs with a book in one hand and a drink in the other. He'd come to learn that the Bloody Mary in the morning was usually sans vodka, the Martini in the afternoon was usually sans Gin, but the wine in the evening was always of the finest quality.

"Good afternoon, Vincent," Martha said, raising her Martini class at his approach.

"Hey," he responded, figuring they must be accustomed to his various mood swings by now. He sat in the chair he always sat in and stared out across the water. It had become routine. "When will we be arriving in Aruba? I thought we'd be there by now."

Nelson nodded. His chair was next to a table with maps, papers, and current charts. "We're sidestepping a storm. Had to troll northeast in an attempt to miss it. How're you feeling today?"

He shrugged, "About the same."

"Any memories come back to you?"

He scratched his head and said, "There are people who I care about in my life, but when I feel like I'm on the verge of seeing their faces, everything suddenly up and disappears. Poof and they're all gone."

"A wife?"

"I don't think so."

"Children?"

He shook his head. "I don't think I'm married or have children. But there are people who are…are like family to me. I just can't seem to place them."

"Maybe your parents?"

Tony shook his head, "No, not my parents. I don't have any memories of them, or any brothers or sisters for that matter. No, these people are like family but I don't think they are."

"Work colleagues maybe?"

This time, he slowly nodded, "Maybe. I keep sensing a man's face but there are no features. I couldn't even tell you his hair color. But I know he's like a father to me. In fact, I'm close to him but…" his voice trailed off. Finally he sighed, "I know whoever he is, he's out there looking for me."

"It'll all come back to you in time," Martha encouraged. "Care for a drink?"

"No, no thank you." He leaned back trying to put words to an incomplete vision. "But there is this one image that seems to appear at night, like a nightmare. I see a man that only has one leg. But that's about all I know about him."

"Maybe he's the reason why you're out here?"

"Possibly," he answered mechanically. A distorted image of Rawlings appeared again. He was laughing, contemptuously and sardonically, and he was evil, but the face had dissolved before it had fully materialized leaving him feeling confused and irritated again: the new normal. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to rub away the fog. Finally, he got up and returned to his cabin.

****8

Tim didn't know what to do. He never knew what to do in situations like these. It took everything he had to keep his mind on his job and off of Tony; perhaps Abby's lab wasn't the smartest place to be. He saw the tear splash on the table and he froze. He didn't even finish the code he was typing.

"Abby…" he uttered, never knowing what to say when she got like this.

"Why can't we find him?" she whispered. "Why did this happen? I want him back so much!" Turning to better face him, she lamented, "Why can't we find him, McGee?"

"We're looking for him, and we _will_ find him…" He wanted to say something that would put her mind at ease, but he needed someone to put his own mind at ease first. Tony was missing, dead even when given the circumstances, but nobody would believe it. He almost wished someone would be the voice of reason and say what everyone tiptoed around. Come out and declare Anthony DiNozzo Jr. dead, then maybe they could begin to come to terms with it. But nobody would say it. Everyone held onto the slightest thread of hope that he was still alive. And why not? It wasn't the first time people had thought him dead only to find out he wasn't.

"Abby, I can't answer why we can't find him, but I can tell you that Tony has a way of surviving even when the odds are insurmountable. Remember when he came down with the pneumonic plague? He had a fifteen percent survival rate and he survived it. Remember when we thought he died when his car exploded? He survived that because he wasn't even in it! And remember when the odds were against us in Saleem's camp? I gotta tell you that if anybody's capable of surviving anything, it's Tony. He's like a cat with nine lives."

She felt his sincerity and his intensity. She sensed that he believed that they'd find Tony and for that, she was infinitely grateful. She pulled him close and gave him a big hug, "We will find him. I know that now. Thanks, McGee."

He held her, but if she could have seen his face, she may not be thanking him. His brain knew what his heart failed to acknowledge. Tony's chance of survival was less than .001 percent. How did he know this? Because statistically, that was anyone's chance of survival if lost at sea.

****8

Tony tossed and turned but it wasn't until he woke up that he realized it wasn't a nightmare that was causing it, it was his bed. It was being tossed around and when he got up and tried to walk, he could barely keep his balance. He steadied himself as best he could and stumbled up on deck. The clouds were black and ominous, and flashes sliced through the air every second. Thunder cracked overhead and the wind whipped around with gale force speeds. But it was the rain that made it so difficult to see and breathe. And it stung as it pelted his skin.

"Nelson?" he yelled, making his way towards the captain's seat. "NELSON!"

"Up here!"

"What's going on?"

"The storm turned," he yelled from behind the captain's wheel. "We're going through it!"

_Damn_, Tony thought. "Where's Martha!"

"Bow side!" he yelled, fighting the wheel. "She's battening down the hatches!"

Tony shielded his face and eyes from the deluge of rain and worked his way around the boat. "Martha!" he yelled. He couldn't see two feet in front of him and had to hang onto the rope tethered around the exterior of the boat just to keep from being thrown overboard. "MARTHA!" he yelled again.

"Over here!"

He followed the curvature of the bow until he had made it portside. "MARTHA!" he yelled out.

"I'm right here!"

He reached out and felt her arm. He could only see her when he turned his back to the wind. She was tying a rope across a porthole. Literally, Tony thought, she was battening down the hatches. "We have to get inside!"

"I'm almost done! I have one more to secure!"

He would have rather she just left it. The wind, if at all possible, was getting stronger, and the rain was now coming down sideways in sheets. He tried to help her but it was a one-man job and so he clung to the rope as the boat tossed up and down and side to side. In his mind, with her slight frame, he had no idea how she wasn't being blown away by the wind or simply tossed overboard by the turbulence, but she was working steadily. Protectively, he grabbed the back of her shirt, giving her something to balance against. If nothing else, she wasn't going to lose her footing with him around. She worked quickly and when she was done, she hit him on the shoulder and yelled, "Okay! Let's go!"

He held onto her with one hand and used his other hand to follow the railing around as they made their way towards the bow of the boat. He was rounding it when the boat suddenly lurched high in the air, and then took a sudden dive. Tony threaded his arm through the rope and yelled, "HOLD ON!"

A wall of water crashed over them sending them smashing into the exterior cabin wall. There was no air and for a second, Tony lost hold of Martha's arm. He frantically thrashed his hand about the water grabbing for anything. He kicked his feet out just trying to touch something. He caught hold of fabric and pulled at it. As the water receded, he saw that he had hold of Martha's shirt, but she was floating like a rag doll. He grabbed her tiny frame and wedged her between him and the boat. Then he used both hands to secure his arms to the rope and prayed it would be enough to keep her safe as another wall of water crashed over them. He couldn't see her, but he felt her and he was determined not to let the water pull them apart. He felt a small break in the tumult and took advantage of it. He threw her over his shoulder and made his way down the stern side of the boat. He had just made it to the door when another wall of water hit.

Nelson abandoned the wheel when he saw them, "What happened?"

"She hit her head!"

"How is she!"

"I don't know!" Tony pushed open the door and lay her on the floor.

Nelson felt for her pulse and when he didn't feel one, he began CPR, but the boat lurched and felt like it was rolling over. Tony grabbed his arm and shouted, "If you don't get back up there and steer this thing, none of us are going to make it!"

He hesitated and Tony knew he would never leave his wife if she needed medical attention. He rolled her onto her side, cleared her mouth and began CPR compressions followed by mouth to mouth. Nelson felt the boat lurch again, but this time he catapulted himself topside and grabbed the wheel. Riding the waves and keeping her afloat was his only goal. It was his only way of ensuring his wife lived.

****8

Borin studied the weather map. The cloud formation was inevitable this time of year. When they first started their search for the missing agent, they all knew that this was a possibility; it's just very unfortunate that it happened before they had definitive news about Agent DiNozzo. She hated having this kind of information to report to Gibbs. She tried not to let it show on her face, but she never was very good at that.

Tim saw her first and thought the worst by her expression. Here it came: absolute proof that Tony was dead. He wasn't sure he could handle it. He remained frozen at his desk with only his eyes following her.

Gibbs stood up. By his stance, he must have been thinking the same thing. He waited, silently for her to begin.

"No, Gibbs, I'm not coming with any news about Agent DiNozzo." She must have concluded the same thing as McGee. "We're still searching the area."

Gibbs often disguised relief behind a veil of annoyance and today was no exception. He shifted from foot to foot, impatiently waiting for whatever she had to say.

"But I do have news about the search. A tropical storm is bringing it to a temporary halt."

"You calling it off?"

"No, we just can't search under those conditions. We'll resume as soon as it passes through the area."

"What are his chances after that?"

Borin thought, Agent DiNozzo's chances were slim to none on a good day; they became almost non-existent now. "We're doing everything we can, Gibbs. And, we think we might have a lead."

Gibbs pulled back, surprised. Ziva left her chair and came over. "A lead? What kind of lead?"

"It's not a great lead, but we have a boat we'd like to talk to. They left out of Annapolis and according to their travel log, they were due to pass through the area where DiNozzo went into the water."

"Why are we just hearing about this now?" Gibbs said.

"Because we were pulling logs from ships that left ports in Florida, Georgia, South Carolina and North Caroline. That number alone is a hell of a lot of people to track down. We're now pulling logs from boats that left from Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, and on up the east coast. This boat left from Annapolis, and I don't have to tell you that it's a long shot. We haven't been able to contact them."

"Who are they?"

"A husband and wife team…The Caldwells."

"Why can't you find them?"

"It looks as though they got caught in the storm. They're experienced boaters so we have hope, but…"

"…but… what?"

"But they haven't checked into the marina yet. According to their itinerary, they were supposed to dock in Aruba two days ago and haven't been seen or heard from since the storm."

Gibbs scratched his head. He needed a drink. He mumbled something that sounded like, "Thanks," and was gone.

Borin looked after him, wondering if she would feel the same sense of loss if it had been one of her agents lost as sea. She concluded she would. She felt Ziva's presence and asked, "How are you doing?"

"We are coping. Trying to…accept what we think we already know. It is not easy."

Borin felt her pain. "We're not giving up Officer David. You can tell Gibbs that we won't stop until we know for sure one way or the other."

She tried to nod her appreciation, but she was doing all she could to hold back tears. She gave a quick eyeless smile and excused herself, presumably for the ladies' room.

****8

Gibbs entered autopsy. There were two bodies there, but neither concerned him. Palmer was working on one and Ducky the other, and there was a noticeable lack of pontificating taking place. Palmer looked at the team leader and smiled, hopeful for some exciting news. When he realized that Gibbs wasn't visiting to impart anything good, he retreated to the back room, presumably to wash some pipettes.

Ducky only momentarily stopped what he was doing. "I take it there still hasn't been any news."

"No. Borin came by to tell me that a storm is hitting the area and the search is being temporarily called off."

"I see."

Gibbs added, "There's been no news on Tony."

Ducky nodded, then stole a quick glance at the team leader. "You don't think they'll find him, do you?"

What the ME was good at was putting feelings into words. Gibbs picked up a utensil and turned it over in his hands and set it back down again. "In my gut, Ducky, I feel that he's alive. But how can he be? No one can survive that, not even Tony."

"I think we've all seen our Anthony survive things that lesser men would succumb to. And I think it's quite natural for us to believe that he will survive this. The problem is our brains. We know what we know and that is at odds with what we want to believe." He snuck a peek at Gibbs and continued, "I noticed you're tracking Rawlings. Have you been successful finding him?"

"SECNAV wants to turn it over to NCIS: Japan. He feels like it's too close to home for us to deal with."

"And you don't feel that way."

"I'm trying, Duck. I'm trying not to go the same route I did with Shannon and Kelly. But I gotta tell you, it's not easy. I see that man in my sights every hour of every day. I see him and all I want to do is put a bullet in his head."

Ducky had to refrain from encouraging him to do just that, but one such act is exactly one too many for a single man to shoulder alone. Instead, he said, "It's best this way, Jethro. Let our agents in the Pacific handle Duggard Rawlings."

"They may not get the chance," Gibbs said. "I understand that once Captain May started talking, he didn't stop. He named everyone he could think of and now the cartels are looking for Rawlings."

"Yes," Ducky said, remembering the last image he had of Anthony thrashing about, "but the ocean's a big place to search for a lone man."

****8

Tony looked around at the damage on the boat. Surprisingly, not much had broken. Several cans of food were rolling about the floor and a few dishes had been smashed in their cabinets, but the wine bottles came through unscathed as did most everything else. Funny thing about a boat; it's designed for that sort of thing so it was nice that very little had been destroyed.

The same could not be said for the mechanics of the boat. To the naked eye, it looked relatively intact, but the problem wasn't something you could readily see.

He stood next to Nelson and Martha and followed their gaze. There were peering over the back of the boat trying to see under it. However calm the waters, the notion was ridiculous. "What are you looking for?"

"The rudder," Nelson answered.

"The rudder? What's wrong with it?"

"I think it broke off. I lost control and all we can do now is go in circles."

Martha asked, "What about the radio?"

"Lost that shortly after midnight."

"How about the engine?"

Nelson shook his head pensively.

They looked expectantly at Tony, like he had the answer to an age old problem.

"Anyone got a paddle?" he asked, only half joking.

Nelson smiled and sat down in his usual lounge chair. Martha slid into her chair and looked about. She now sported a bandage around her head. Affectionately, her husband reached over and patted her hand.

No rudder. No radio. No engine. Adrift at sea. _These obviously weren't people who panicked easily_, Tony thought. He leaned against the railing. The water was quiet and the boat barely moved. His side hurt a lot and he instinctively moved his hand to his midsection, feeling the bandage. The ordeal just several hours earlier had split open his stitches and he began bleeding again. He had found the gauze and bandages and had wrapped it as best he could, but it wasn't nearly as secure as the first one, but he didn't have the heart to ask Martha for help.

After he bandaged himself up, he had spent the rest of the morning helping her clean up the cabin. No Bloody Mary's today. Besides, she was still recovering from being…well, dead, and he hadn't wanted her to exert herself too much. She insisted on helping, but he finally convinced her to just sit and tell him where everything went and he put it away. He didn't have the hardware on board to properly fix the cupboard so he geri-rigged it and then lined up the cans neatly inside. He found homes for the maps, books and papers that hadn't been secured and picked up the tchotchkes that were cast about. That which he could salvage, he cleaned and put away; that which he couldn't, he stowed in a trash bag. He then took a mop and sopped up the water as best he could and hung up towels and linens that had become soaked.

He looked up from the railing and caught her smiling at him and he suddenly felt calm, safe. The same feeling he experiences when he's with someone else. He closed his eyes, hoping that face might materialize.

"Trying to remember someone?" Martha asked.

He let out a long sigh. Like all the other questions that went unanswered, he just turned away and looked out over the ocean again.

Nelson templed his fingers and said, "You seemed to know what you were doing last night."

Tony looked quizzically at him.

"CPR. You knew how to do it. Are you a doctor or maybe a medical professional?"

He tried hard to remember, "I don't know… I don't why I know CPR. I don't think I'm a doctor…but I've seen a lot of blood. Death is part of who I am…I think."

Martha said, "I am convinced you are not a bad person. I owe my life to you, Vincent."

"And I owe mine to both of you." It should have been a moment of joy and revelation, but it wasn't. It was a moment of longing and sadness. Wanting to change the subject, Tony sat up a little straighter and asked, "Can we fix her?"

Ever the pragmatist, Nelson replied, "We're gonna have to if we want to get to Aruba."

While Martha stayed topside, Tony and Nelson disappeared below. She stared out over the water thinking about the two men who just left. Her heart warmed like never before, and her hopes soared. She relished the feeling and dozed comfortably in her lounge chair.

****8

"Lunch is served!" Martha yelled down below.

As far as Tony's stomach was concerned, food was way past due but he didn't make a move towards the door until Nelson got up off the floor. The engine room was nothing more than a closet packed full with twin Detroit Diesel engines that, according to Nelson, had recently been rebuilt and only had about 200 hours on them. There was an Onan 15KW generator and one wall was nothing but gauges and wires. Nelson liked talking about his boat and Tony learned a wealth of information in a short period of time, like the boat was really a Hatteras Yacht that he bought new in 1984. He had driven straight to New Bern, North Carolina and bought it with cash and then gave it to his wife as an anniversary present. That was after the money began rolling in from his first invention. Nelson liked to impart small tidbits of information that he somehow managed to connect to their current situation if only by a minute thread. As Tony patiently listened, he'd get snippets of images, which would vanish before they fully materialized, of a darkened room and a different man working on a boat, but he could never hone in on who it was.

Two bodies couldn't really be in the engine room at the same time, but it took at least two bodies to effect repairs. So Tony had wedged himself between motors and the mechanical lines and tried his best to hand over the requested tools. Finally, Nelson came to a stopping point and said, "We had better go eat. She doesn't like food to go to waste."

Sitting up on deck at the table, Tony asked, "How do you know so much about engines?"

Nelson set his sandwich down and mused, "An engine isn't unlike a human body…everything has a specific job to do and when it stops functioning properly, it's my job to find out what part isn't living up to its end of the deal."

"What part was broken?" Martha asked not sure if she wanted to know.

"It's not so much broken as flooded. I had to flush the hoses and dry off the gauges, but I couldn't see anything that's obviously wrong."

Listening quietly, Tony ate the last of his sandwich.

They had noticed that he wasn't paying attention and Martha wondered what he was thinking.

Finally, he asked, "How do you go about fixing a head?"

"Not really my specialty," Nelson replied. "I'm more a heart and lung specialist." In truth, it was Martha who was so good with people.

As if on cue, she said, "Sometimes when you stop trying so hard things come a little easier."

"I just wish I knew who I was. I feel like there are people looking for me and that I should contact them, but I have no idea who they are or how to get in touch. On the other hand, I feel like there are people who are looking for me that I don't want finding me."

Martha and Nelson listened. It was easy to see his struggle as it was evident on his features. He was tanning nicely and gaining back strength. By all accounts, he was a handsome man and somebody was missing him or had at the very least notified the authorities that he was missing. But without a radio, there wasn't much chance of finding that out.

"C'mon, Vincent," Nelson said, "let's finish up with the engine. We still have a rudder to fix."

It took most of the afternoon, but between Tony's knowledge of car engines and Nelson's troubleshooting abilities, they were able to clean, dry out, or just plain geri-rig a solution to fix the motor. When Nelson turned it over, and it purred nicely, it was the first time he'd seen the young man smile with his eyes. "Okay, now we get to fix the rudder."

Tony peered over the stern of the boat. One of them was going to have to get into the water and assess the damage.

"Step aside, boys, that's my job," Martha said.

Tony stood back but Nelson furrowed his brow. "I don't think it's such a good idea to send you in."

Now it was her turn to look surprised, "Why not? I always go in." She looked at Tony and explained, "I'm the one who usually gets into the water whenever one of us has to.

He nodded.

"Except I don't want you exerting yourself with that bump on your head. I'm also worried that you might not have the strength to fix it and I'd just end up getting wet anyways."

"I'll go in," Tony said.

Nelson furrowed his brow and said, "You, young feller, just might end up bringing us some unwanted visitors."

Tony thought about what he said and it finally dawned on him. "Sharks?"

"Yep. A drop of blood can be smelt a long ways away."

Tony felt his side absentmindedly. The truth be told, he wasn't sure what shape he was in.

"Let me take a look." Martha helped him unwrap the bandages and immediately realized it wasn't the work of her or her husband, but it did the trick and his wounds looked clean. She could tell that it had been bleeding but the bandages had worked and the bleeding had stopped. They didn't have the benefit of certain topical ointments so there would be scars, but the healing process was coming along nicely. As long as he didn't traumatize the sight anymore, it should be okay. But just to be safe, she opened a sterilized bandage and wrapped his midsection with a rubberized tape. After she secured it, she nodded at her husband.

Nelson pulled out a scuba mask, snorkel and some flippers. "Here, put these on." Then he lowered a ladder off the stern. "You'll have to go under the boat to see the rudder. If it's a matter of it being broken or missing, I've got another one we can put on. But if it's more severe, like there's damage to the boat, we may have a problem."

Tony pulled the mask on and slid his feet into the fins. He backed onto the small platform and stepped backwards, sinking into the cool water. At the precise moment of impact, pictures flooded his brain. There was a silver haired man, a black haired lady, and a brunette. There were head slaps and laughter along with dead bodies and computers, but the images flitted by far too fast to make anything of them and he was left with a range of emotions he didn't understand. He gasped for air when he surfaced.

"Are you okay?" Nelson yelled.

For a split second, he was overwhelmed with panic, but the voice above seemed to soothe him, reminiscent of another voice he couldn't place. He looked up at the two staring down at him and nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine," he sputtered. He held onto the ladder and emptied his mask, taking a little extra time to steel his emotions, and then he took a deep breath and ducked under the boat. It was blue and peaceful and serene. He liked that there was no sound and that he could see for a good distance. He maneuvered himself up underneath the rudder and saw that it had split in half and was hanging on by a bolt, but he couldn't tell if the boat itself had any damage.

Surfacing he took in air and pulled off his mask. "It looks like the rudder is damaged, half of it's missing. It's also hanging on by a single bolt."

"How's the bottom look?"

"I can't tell if the boat is damaged. Not till the rudder is removed."

Nelson nodded and retrieved some tools and another rudder from the engine room. He handed down a wrench and watched as Tony disappeared back under the boat.

Martha had taken up her position as spotter two levels up. She held a pair of binoculars to her eyes and scoured the water for what every swimmer feared: a dorsal fin. Vincent had not talked about the attack, but the truth is it was the attack that got their attention. They saw the thrashing in the water and steered towards it. By the time they got there, the shark had swum off, leaving its victim to bleed to death. They had to get him out of the water quickly because the shark would return, but why he was even in the water in the first place was a mystery that was eating her up. And why was he handcuffed? She desperately wanted to know how he came to be stranded in the middle of the ocean, but until his memories returned, there wasn't much chance of that happening. She took a break and looked down at the two men fondly. Her love for her husband grew every day and she was finding that her love for one cast away was growing as well.

****8

Ziva snapped pictures of the crime scene. A petty officer was dead and all points led to a drug deal gone wrong. She'd seen it before and she'd see it again, and she didn't want to spend time investigating it. She wanted to contact Special Agent Borin and hear about her progress in locating the missing boat.

"Ziva!"

She snapped out of her thoughts and looked at her boss.

He was annoyed and it showed. "Go with McGee and interview Phillips. See if he saw anything."

"On it."

She and McGee walked under the crime scene tape and over to a young man with his hands jammed into his pockets. The teenager could have been cold, or he could have been nervous, Ziva didn't much care one way or the other. The officer watching him looked relieved when they arrived.

"He's all yours," he said as he turned and walked away.

"I'm Officer David and this is Special Agent McGee. We're with NCIS. Can you tell us what you saw?"

"I saw this dude whack another dude."

"With what?"

"What'd'ya think! A water gun!" he added sarcastically.

"Look—!" she started, but McGee stepped between them and looked down on the punk teenager who barely came up to his chest. He said softly, "You don't want to piss her off any more than she already is and here's why. She can kill you six different ways and you won't make a sound and she won't leave a mark. And I won't have seen anything. So you can either give us straight answers to our questions and let us get on with our investigation, or I can turn my back and you can see how well you fare with a trained Mossad assassin. Do you understand?"

The boy nodded his head, skeptical at first but then something in the woman's eyes told him she might be a little crazy, so he decided he wouldn't test the threat. He answered their questions, giving a thorough description of the drug dealer as well as the murder, and in record time they had dismissed him.

McGee thought their newfound interrogation tactic was a bit extreme but it seemed to work so he filed it away for future use. But he knew it was due to everyone being on edge about Tony.

Tony. There wasn't a minute that passed when he didn't think about his colleague. Every morning he came in hoping he'd see him sitting at his desk, and at least twice each day he'd wait for a smartass remark to fill the air. Even Ziva seemed to forget at times that he wasn't around, but when she remembered, it was obvious on her body as she slumped, looking as though the weight of the world were on her shoulders.

The squad room was quiet while they pieced together their case. It was only a matter of time before they brought the drug dealer to justice. Ziva looked across at McGee and then sideways at Gibbs. She had waited all afternoon for Gibbs to leave but he hadn't. Finally, he got a call from Ducky and he was gone. She picked up her phone and dialed.

"Agent Borin," she said, "this is Ziva David. Have you heard any news?"

McGee looked up and listened in on the conversation. It didn't look like good news based on her expression.

"I see," she said, encouraging the CGIS agent to continue. "Is there anything we can do?"

"Okay. Thank you." She hung up.

"I take it there hasn't been any news about the missing boat?"

"No. They have not checked in on any of the islands and they are not answering their radio."

McGee sighed and went back to what he was doing, which was compiling all the pictures he had ever taken of Tony into one folder aptly named Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo.

****8

"Try it now!" Tony yelled up from the water.

Nelson and Martha were both high up on the top level behind the Captain's wheel. Nelson turned it and waited to see if the compass changed. Slowly, the needle went from east to north. Martha smiled and clapped him on the back when she saw the reading. Leaning over the railing, she yelled, "It's working! Whatever you did, it's now working!"

Tony gave her the thumbs up signal and made his way to the ladder. Pulling himself up, she could see that he was exhausted. She lost count of the number of times he had pulled himself out of the water and the number of times he had dived underneath the boat. He tossed his mask and flippers in the corner and plopped down in the lounge chair.

"You've worked hard today. Now that we got the boat running, why don't you relax a while. It'll be dark before long."

"What about the radio? Are we going to try to get that working?"

"You've done enough today. I say we all just rest and enjoy the evening."

"I'm not gonna argue with that. Any idea when we'll get to an island?"

"That depends on how far off course the storm took us and how far we drifted afterwards. But we've got plenty of food and we're not in any hurry. We'll make it there when we make it there." She gave him a wink and left.

He relaxed. It had been an exhausting day but a good day. He worked hard and saw results. It reminded him of something else, but he couldn't place it, like he couldn't place so many thoughts and memories that he experienced lately. He looked at the bracelets again. In the water, they sparkled and the light brought different kinds of fish towards him. Most were small, beautiful fish, but some were larger, and less colorful.

Why in the hell was he wearing handcuffs? Why had he been left to die in the ocean? Why couldn't he remember who he was? Why couldn't he put faces to people in his head? Why?

Why.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Gibbs looked up when he saw the man approach. For a split second, he could have sworn he was watching his senior agent walk towards him, but although the resemblance was uncanny, it was not him.

"Mr. DiNozzo," Gibbs said by way of a greeting. He had wondered if he was going to make an appearance.

"Special Agent Gibbs," Mr. DiNozzo returned. "I'm sorry to drop in on you like this, but I couldn't believe it when I heard the news. I still don't believe it. Junior…well, nothing ever happens to him. How could this be true?"

Abby had escorted him up and she tried to offer words of comfort but she needed those words for herself. In fact, nobody at NCIS was much comfort. Everybody held onto hope that he was alive, but in their heads, they knew it was damned impossible. The ones who were ruled by their hearts came across as ignorant fools; whereas, the ones ruled by their heads came across as callous chumps. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything in between.

Abby tried to explain, "Nothing is certain yet, Mr. DiNozzo. We're still looking, and by 'we' I mean the Coast Guard and Navy and anyone who has a boat on the water."

Tony's father looked at his son's empty desk. His shoulders sagged and he appeared to have aged. "There were so many things I wanted to say to him. So many apologies I wanted to make, so many explanations I wanted to give."

Ziva came from around her desk, "We do not have proof that Tony is—" she stopped short of saying it, like if she said the word, it would somehow mean it was true. "We have not recovered a body and until we do, we are going to continue our search for him. You will have plenty of time to have those conversations."

"I heard his shoes and clothes were found. Is that true?"

"Yes, we did find some of his belongings but that does not mean anything," she encouraged. "We are not giving up. After all, it is Tony we are looking for and if anyone can survive such an ordeal, it is your son."

Gibbs asked, "Where are you staying?"

"At the Adams House. I won't be in your way, I just wanted to hear for myself. Is there anything I can do?"

Abby didn't hesitate when she said, "Pray. We are all praying that a miracle happens and he strolls off that elevator and back into our lives."

****8

The days passed, one day running into the next. The storm had taken them further out than expected so coming within radio distance of an island was proving challenging. They managed to fix the radio which wasn't so much a radio malfunction as an antennae problem, but they were still out of reach of any possible receiver. This morning was like yesterday morning and would be like tomorrow morning. Tony arrived on the deck and was met with a cocktail, a light breakfast and small cordial conversation. He cleaned the dishes and did other chores which consisted mostly of sweeping and making sure the engine room was in order. He had gotten his sea legs on so keeping his balance even in the highest swells was no longer a problem. Mid-afternoon, Martha and Nelson would set up fishing rods and cast them out. Occasionally, they'd catch something, reel it in and Martha would determine if it was worth keeping. She'd know within minutes if it was too small, too big, or even edible. If it passed her inspection, Nelson would go about cleaning and gutting it and then Martha would take it below and prepare it in a way that would make even the most prominent chef in the country green with envy. The dinner talk was always the same, never being too deep or containing much substance. That is until tonight.

"Do you have any children?" Tony asked.

Martha's eyes cast downward and Nelson raised his chin a little more, blowing the smoke from his cigar. Tony guessed they were unprepared for such a question.

Nelson answered, "We had a son. He was killed in a motorcycle accident almost twenty years ago."

"I'm sorry."

Martha said, "He was a good boy. We had thought we couldn't have children. All the tests came back declaring me all but barren. The best doctors in the country told me it would never happen. But then it did. We were up in years by then, but by golly we had a beautiful baby boy. We only had the one child of course, and I'm afraid we might have spoiled him and indulged his every whim. I guess we tried to make up for not being young by buying him things, that motorcycle was one of those things. He lost control on a back road and hit a tree. The blessing was that he died instantly, no pain, no thoughts."

Tony waited for something more, but she had stopped talking and didn't seem like she was going to say another sentence. Nelson quietly puffed away on his cigar while she stared up at the stars. It was a beautiful night with a full moon and calm seas. He knew about death, for some reason. It felt like people around him, people who were close to him, had died. But he had no recollection of who they were or how they died. He remembered blood on his face and without thinking he touched his cheek, looking at his fingertips, expecting to see red. Somewhere, in the deep recesses of his brain, he had memories of people, events, laughter, death… It was all in there, he knew it. He just had to reach it.

The radio crackled and his thoughts disintegrated in his head.

Nelson smiled and picked up the handset and began speaking, "This is The Pegasus. Over."

"/Is this The Pegasus - Annapolis, -stination Aruba? Over./"

"The one and only. It's good to hear someone. Over," Nelson said, smiling at no one and mouthing _bad connection _to his wife.

"/This - Trinidad. We've - looking for you. -ver./"

"Good to hear. You're breaking up some. I guess we're barely within radio range. Over."

"/That puts you - 100 miles east. Are you carrying - ext- passengers? Ov-"

Tony perked up, his mind racing. Instinctively he waived him off.

Nelson bit his lip before responding, "I'm sorry, you're breaking up pretty bad. Repeat."

"Are - in need of assistance? Ov-./"

"No. We're trolling in a westerly direction, taking it slow. Over."

"/Will you - stopping in Trinidad or continuing - to Aruba? Over./"

"No, I think we'll continue to Aruba. Over."

"/We'll alert them - you're on your way. Set - coordinates to 12.5000° N, 69.9667° W. Over./"

"Roger that. Any more storms in the area? Over."

"/No. Clear skies - clear waters all - way in. Over and out./"

Nelson replaced the handset and leaned back. "There now. We have clear sailing all the way to Aruba. We can sit back and relax."

Tony furrowed his brow because relaxing's all they'd been doing and he'd never seen a single sail on this boat.

****8

Abigail Borin walked into the bullpen a little more hopeful than she knew she should have been. It was dangerous to get their hopes up, but regardless of the outcome, they were one step closer to having closure to this horrible crime. But for some reason, somehow she knew that there'd be no closure until Duggard Rawlings was six feet under.

"You have some news!" Ziva said coming from around her desk.

"I have some information is all."

Gibbs raised his brows expectantly and McGee came from around his desk to better hear.

Borin began, "That boat that we thought was lost during the storm? Well, she's coming into Aruba. They made contact with her last night."

"Is Tony aboard?"

This is exactly the sort of question she had wanted to avoid, "We don't know. They made contact late last night but the connection was poor. When asked if they'd like to stop in Trinidad they declined and said they were going to continue onto Aruba."

"So he could be on board," Ziva stated, almost definitively.

Borin sucked in her breath and said, "I know this is difficult, but please do not get your hopes up. The chances that he's on that boat are astronomical. The facts are that if he's not, then we have to explore the possibility that he didn't make it." When she saw their expressions, she added, "Like I said, it would be a miracle if he had been rescued, but if not, this is our last hope of finding him alive. I'm on my way to Aruba to meet the Caldwells. I'll let you know the minute I know."

She hated coming on strong like that, but she wasn't holding onto hope that DiNozzo was somehow alive. She was just about ready to step onto the elevator when she heard her name.

"Borin?"

"Yes?"

Gibbs walked up to her and asked, "Do you mind if I come along?"

She didn't see any reason why he shouldn't, but she wondered why he wanted to. And the reality was, his agent most likely wasn't going to be on board, and that had her worried. "As long as you pay your own way, I can't very well stop you."

****8

Nelson moved quietly in his bedroom. At 3am, his wife was well into her sleep, or so he thought.

"What's on your mind?" she whispered in the darkness.

He sat on the side of the bed and thought about what he wanted to say. "We're coming within range of Aruba and I was asked a question tonight."

She rolled over to better hear.

"Seems the Coast Guard is looking for a federal agent. They asked if we picked up anyone."

"A federal agent," she whispered. "What did you tell them?"

"I didn't. I feigned radio interference again and cut the transmission."

"A federal agent. I knew he was a good man. That sure explains a lot."

He patted her leg and said, "Are you prepared for what's coming?"

She knew what he was referring to. They had both become attached to this mysterious young man and although they had no claim to him, it would have been nice to help him find out who he was. "Of course I am. I'll be fine with whatever happens. I'd like nothing more than to get him back to his family." She looked at the clock. "Do you want me to take over?"

They manned the boat in four hours shifts at night. They'd shared the piloting responsibilities for so long that they were used to getting four hour of sleep at a time. "No, I still have another hour. It'll give me time to think."

****8

Tony tossed and turned and at one point he thought he was back in the storm. He saw images of people that he recognized and he heard voices that seemed familiar. For the first time, the people appeared to have facial features and like a movie coming into focus, his life began to materialize. But then he awoke in a sweat.

He made his way topside as he frequently did when he couldn't fall back to sleep. Hearing the water gently hitting the boat and staring up at the stars was always a calming mechanism for him. Sometimes he would talk, but mostly he just thought. Tonight was the closest he'd come to remembering who he was.

"Care to talk about it?" Martha said.

She was always asking him that question, and he had never taken her up on her offer. But this morning felt different. "I'm catching glimpses of people I know, but I still can't remember." He studied a constellation before adding, "Why can't I remember who I am?"

"The mind is more powerful than we know, or even care to admit. It can protect us against memories that have the capability of harming us. It can act like a prescribed medication or it can shut down completely, depending on what it thinks is best for its host."

Tony turned sideways and narrowed his eyes, "You make it sound like an alien."

"To some extent it is. The brain can act and re-act in a manner that's completely at odds with what the individual wants, or thinks he wants. It can repress memories or completely erase them; it can force an individual to take action or totally freeze; it can be your best friend or your worst enemy. It's when you stop trying to control it that it comes back to you. In my experience, a patient usually gets it back when he begins to feel safe and protected."

"I feel safe here. Why won't it come back?"

"Because you only _think_ you feel that way. Something is blocking you from feeling completely safe. You didn't want Nelson to mention that we had you on board. You know something, but you don't know what it means. Once that 'something' dissipates, I assure you that it'll all come back to you. All the good, all the bad, and all the ugly."

"Nice allusion," he responded before he could think about it. It was the first time he'd made such a remark and it felt normal, in a weird way.

"You like Clint Eastwood?" she asked.

"Nah, but I like the movie…I think."

Tony looked out across the horizon. The darkness was lifting giving way to the sun that was minutes from breaching the skyline. It was hard to imagine that something so terrible had happened to him that his brain had up and snuffed it out, like it was nothing more than the lit end of a birthday candle. It was even harder to imagine that it would all come back to him. And what if he didn't want it coming back? There is a feeling of serenity surrounding him now that he doesn't ever remember having. Like a weight had been lifted. Did he carry around so much excess baggage that without it he feels lighter? Purer? Just what in the hell does he do in his life?

"You are a Federal Agent," Martha whispered.

He jerked his head around. Did he even say those words out loud?

She chuckled softly. "No, you didn't have to say anything. It's written all over your face."

"I'm a what?"

"A Federal Agent."

He scratched his head at the news. "How do you know?"

"Nelson found out last night. We don't know any of the details but I suspect you're going to have quite a welcoming party when they find out about you."

"They think I'm dead?"

"Presumably. We did pull you out of shark infested waters fifty miles from any land."

From below, another, deeper, voice added, "And you were handcuffed and fighting off a great white." Nelson ascended the stairs and joined them, explaining, "I couldn't sleep either. We're going to learn just who you are in a few short hours and I'm pretty excited about it."

Tony could hear his enthusiasm and see Martha's and it's true, that sort of emotion is contagious. He could feel himself getting excited about the prospect of discovering his past and who he really is. "At least I'm not a bad guy," he said.

"I never for a moment thought you were," Martha stated, throwing a knowing wink at her husband.

****8

Gibbs sat alone at a table overlooking the harbor. They had arrived that morning and he had stood around patiently while she checked in at the hotel and with her various supervisors, filled out paperwork, and ran into colleagues she hadn't seen in a while. The conversations were always the same: "I heard about that agent…off the Florida Keys…sharks…clothes washed ashore…storm…NCIS…you don't really think he made it…do you?"

Gibbs endured until he couldn't take it anymore and found a hole in the wall bar that looked out over the fishing boats, dingy's, and yachts that were all neatly lined up in their assigned slips. The irony wasn't lost on him.

He sat nursing a beer and thinking about Tony. If there was one person who he'd gladly give his life for it was DiNozzo. The guy had a knack for ingratiating himself into people's lives like no other person he'd ever known. His disposition was unlike anyone he'd ever met and his sense of humor would make the likes of Robin Williams proud. But as likeable and charismatic as the man was, it was his brain that most intrigued Gibbs. Tony could take the smallest clue and follow it to a case breaking lead. He was a quick thinking, smart-assed detective who, when he put his mind to it, could run circles around just about anyone he wanted.

There were times when Tony came to conclusions that he was still miles from figuring out. He'd never let his team know that, but Tony was more to him than just a superior agent; he was more to him than another team leader. Tony was the guy you wanted to be with in a firefight. Tony was family. Tony was—

"Can I join you?" Agent Borin repeated.

Gibbs nodded towards the empty chair and she sat down. She said, "You must deep in thought."

He ignored the comment as he often did. Words weren't something he was good at on a good day; they were damned near impossible on a day when he was going learn the fate of his agent. He looked at his watch, "Has anyone been in contact with them…the Caldwells?"

"Their radio's been on the fritz. We get a few words in and they respond and then we lose them."

"Do you know anything about them?"

"He's a doctor and his wife's a nurse. They have money mostly from medical equipment patents. No children. Retired." She paused a moment before asking, "Why did you come down here with me?"

"My gut… I guess I'm not ready to say goodbye."

She looked at her bottled water and nodded, but didn't say anything.

"When are they due to dock?"

She looked at her watch and shrugged, "In about an hour."

Gibbs returned his attention back to the bustle of the harbor and back to his thoughts about his agent. Suddenly an image of him and Kate got stuck in his mind's eye. Those two were always bickering and carrying on like siblings. Tony had taken her death hard, hiding his feelings behind quips and deflections, but hard nevertheless. But he adapted to Ziva, and those two… Something developed between those two and Gibbs couldn't fault either one. It's hard to fight chemistry. And then came the odd couple. He and McGee couldn't be more polar opposites, but they work. They complement one another in a strange way. McGee helps to calm Tony's insecurities, something he'd never admit to, and Tony helps Tim overcome his awkwardness, something Tim would never admit to. And then there's Abby. At one point, early in their relationship, Gibbs knew they'd had a fling, a romantic involvement, possibly more intrigue than lust, or friends with benefits. How long it lasted, he didn't know, but then it was over and neither missed a beat. They probably thought they might screw up a good thing if they kept it going. They were right.

He sighed into his bottle. The thought of losing Tony was almost unbearable. He couldn't lose another agent. Maybe it was time for him to make a change. What he did was all he knew how to do, but could he continue without Anthony? Would he want to? The answer was a resounding no.

****8

"Here," Martha said, holding out some clothes.

"What's this?"

"I have a feeling that people are going to be waiting for you and I just want you to look presentable."

He nodded appreciatively and took them. He went below to change and fifteen minutes later he was topside again only instead of wearing a pair of designer Italian boxers, he was in a pair of jeans with a button down white shirt and flip flops.

Nelson yelled down from the Captain's chair, "I haven't worn them in years. I have to admit that the outfit looks better on you than me. I can see the island. We should be docking in about an hour."

Martha yelled down, "Come on up and enjoy the view."

Tony ascended the ladder and pulled over a chair and sat down. He had spent most of the time below in the cabins or on the middle level's sundeck. On the rare occasion he'd been up to the bridge, it had always been at night to keep one of them company. But it wasn't until Martha ticked her chin up that he looked out over the horizon. A wave of relief washed over him upon seeing land, and it looked to the Caldwells that some flickers of memory just might have returned.

"It's beautiful," Tony murmured.

"Yes, it is. The white sand beaches are its calling card," Martha said admiring the flat landscape of the island. "Aruba is quite the tourist destination."

"You said people were going to meet me. Do you know who?"

"The coast guard, I believe," Nelson answered. He hadn't spent too much time on the radio asking questions. He already had an idea who it might be.

Tony thought that should ring a bell with him, but he couldn't place it. "You said I was a Federal Agent, right?"

"That's right," Martha said.

"Maybe I'm with the Coast Guard?"

They shrugged.

"FBI?"

"Possible," Nelson said.

"CIA?"

"Perhaps. We'll find out soon enough. They're sending a boat to meet us and guide us in. They want us to dock at Oranjestad, which is on the southside of the island. We have to troll around it to get there."

"An escort?" Suddenly Tony didn't feel so easy. There were people who wanted him dead, he knew that, but exactly who they were, he hadn't a clue. He sensed that he had pissed off more than his share of people and he was at a distinct disadvantage without any memory of who he was and what he'd done. He looked at the two people who had saved him and he became nervous for them. What if by rescuing him they got caught up in whatever he had been caught up in? What if something happened to them? "I think I should go below. I'm not sure it's such a good idea to be seen."

Nelson and Martha gave each other a look. They were confused. A federal agent who was in fear for his life?

"Sure," Nelson said. "You go on below and stay out of sight. We'll check it out and make sure the coast is clear before you make an appearance. Sound good?"

Tony nodded, almost despondently, and slowly disappeared down the ladder.

Martha pinched her brows together and said, "Isn't it against the law to hide him?"

"We're not hiding him…we're just not mentioning that we have him."

She snorted, "That's a fine line if I ever heard one."

He smiled and nodded out over the water, "Here they come. Our escort awaits."

****8

Borin hung up her phone and said, "They're almost here. Our cutter is bringing them in."

"Is Tony on board?"

She hesitated, then answered, "They don't see anybody."

Gibbs quelled his feelings and emptied his beer bottle. He looked out when Borin ticked her head. The Coast Guard cutter was making its way slowly towards the entrance of the harbor. It was every bit of 64 feet long, white and flying the official coast guard flag. Behind her was the Hatteras, mid 80's, Gibbs guessed. No wonder they made it through the storm; he'd heard a Hattaras can't be sunk.

He stood, staring, never letting his eyes leave The Pegasus. As it neared, he could see a man standing behind the captain's wheel and another person sitting nearby. It wasn't difficult to see that no one else was there. As he waited, he shifted from foot to foot. He was keenly aware that Borin was watching him.

As the boats neared, the coast guard cutter peeled off and The Pegasus motored towards her slip. An older woman threw some ropes to the men on dock and they guided the boat in and tied her down. Gibbs stood apart from the others and watched. He studied the man and woman while they made their way off their boat and over to Borin.

He couldn't hear all the questions but he knew the routine and knew what was being asked. They answered diligently and confidently.

"Excuse me," he said, interrupting Agent Borin's questions. She didn't seem to mind. "I'm Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. The agent who we're looking for—" He broke off, stumbled even. "The agent is one of mine. He's—, We…"

Borin had never seen him like this. Gibbs was always the epitome of calm. He was unwavering, but now he couldn't hardly form a sentence.

Nelson said, "It's like I told the Agent here, we first heard about a missing federal agent when we got radio connection after the storm."

Gibbs looked around as the realization that his agent wasn't on board. That rolled into the realization that Anthony DiNozzo was never coming back. He fought it, but it was becoming difficult to think, much less speak. He shifted and stepped back.

Agent Borin thanked them for their time and stepped away, giving Gibbs some space. She needed to make a phone call anyway.

Gibbs watched the elderly couple return to their boat. He had wanted so desperately to see his agent that he hadn't taken into account what it might be like if he hadn't been on board. He felt a deep sense of loss and the pain showed across his features. He caught the eyes of the woman and held them.

That's when his gut jumped.

Martha squeezed her husband's hands and said, "We should tell him."

Nelson often deferred to his wife on matters of intuition. They watched the Coast Guard agent walk away, and once she had cleared the dock, Martha called out, "Agent Gibbs?"

He approached them, anxiously but cautiously.

Martha looked nervously around before she whispered, "We did pick up something out there in the water that you may be interested in."

Wanting to grab his stomach and keep it from flipping, he kept his cool as best he could and said, "Anything will be helpful to our investigation." He boarded the boat and followed them to the lounge chairs.

"Wait here, please," she said.

She disappeared below and returned a few minutes later with several torn pieces of fabric and handed them over.

Gibbs had hoped for so much more. He recognized them immediately and could barely look at them. He slowly reached out and took them. Swallowing hard, he asked, "Where?"

"About fifty miles off the coast of Florida."

"Were there…Did you… see any signs of a man?"

Nelson and Martha knew it was time. Nelson said, "Agent Gibbs, maybe you should follow me."

Startled by the turn, Gibbs wasn't sure if he wanted to look at anything else. But they just might have definitive proof about Tony.

They walked the length of the boat and took the steps down below. They passed one door and the woman paused in front of a second door. She knocked softly and waited. When the door slowly opened, there standing before him was his very own Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The galley was crowded with four people, but they thought it was best to stay below. Gibbs didn't stop staring at his agent to the point where it obviously made him feel uncomfortable. Martha poured four cups of black coffee and joined them at the small square table.

"I'm sorry, Agent Gibbs, to have misled you the way we did," Nelson explained, "but Vincent here didn't want to be seen."

"Vincent?"

"I mean Anthony. We named him Vincent when he couldn't remember his name. But Anthony fits him better."

Martha added, "We knew he was someone special to you. Nobody could fake that look when you thought he was dead."

Tony said, "I should know you, but I don't."

Gibbs studied him. He couldn't even try to put into words what he was feeling but he was trying to wrap his brain around his agent's memory loss. "I'm your boss, Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Do you remember what happened?"

Tony shook his head.

Nelson said, "We pulled him out of the water just before a great white was going to have him for dinner. He was unconscious quite a while."

Martha added, "We bandaged him up and kept him alive. When he came to, he didn't remember much of the attack, thank goodness. But he also didn't remember how he came to be floating in the ocean or who he was."

Nelson said, "It's not too uncommon for victims who have had a traumatic experience to block it out. And I would say getting thrown overboard and attacked by a shark qualifies as a traumatic experience."

Gibbs nodded, still reeling with gratitude that his agent was alive. "I can't thank you enough."

"If you want to thank us, find out who did this to him and put him away."

"I intend to. There are a lot of people who are going to be very happy to see him."

"We certainly understand. I'm afraid we've grown quite attached," she said and reached over and stroked his arm.

He smiled back at her and it was a beautiful sight to behold.

****8

After saying their goodbyes, Gibbs snuck Tony off the boat and walked him across the harbor to where he'd seen a line of taxis. He wouldn't stop staring. He had actually wanted to embrace Tony when he'd first seen him, and that was a first.

"Why do you keep staring at me?"

"Because I thought I'd lost you."

"You thought I was dead?"

"Yep."

"Was I really thrown overboard?"

"Yep."

"And I'm a Federal Agent?"

"Yep. With NCIS."

Gibbs pushed Tony into the waiting cab and gave the cabbie the name of the hotel. Tony watched the scenery of Aruba rush by. The morning was bright and hot, but a steady breeze was ever present. It had felt funny to walk after so long at sea. He kept feeling the gentle rocking of the boat. He looked at the man seated next to him and wondered if he was going to answer his phone.

Gibbs eventually squinted at Caller ID and then answered it.

Tony listened. It became obvious that the man seated next to him was a man of few words. When he got off the phone, Tony commented, "You didn't mention me to whoever called."

He nodded. "There are people who might try and kill you. I think it's best if we just let them think you're dead."

Tony studied the older man. There was something about him that conveyed safety and security. Something that he couldn't put his finger on, but it was nevertheless there. "Can you tell me anything about myself? Do I have parents?"

"A father. Your mother passed when you were young, about eight years old. You grew up in New York." It was obvious to Gibbs that this information meant nothing to him.

"What about you? How do we know each other, besides working together?"

"You came to work at NCIS about seven years ago. Before that, you worked in Baltimore as a homicide detective." Again, it was obvious that none of it meant anything.

"Can you tell me what kind of person I am?"

Gibbs understood the question. It's the sort of question that cops ask themselves every day. "You're a good cop. You have good instincts."

Tony nodded. He felt like he had good instincts. It seemed to him that no matter how confusing everything was, he could always trust his gut. And that was telling him that he could trust this man.

Gibbs paid the cab driver and ushered Tony into the shadows of the hotel. It was a large pink and blue structure that resembled the French architecture of New Orleans. "Wait here," he said.

Tony dutifully obeyed and watched the people as they strolled by in sunglasses and brightly colored shirts. It was a busy day and it occurred to him that he didn't even know what day of the week it was. He thought about crossing the street and buying a newspaper but he didn't have so much as a dime on him. Then he wondered what kind of currency floated on this island?

"C'mon."

Tony turned and saw Gibbs. He followed him down a narrow alley, through a back door, up a flight of stairs and through a kitchen. They crossed into another stairwell where they climbed three flights of stairs. Gibbs looked both ways before he stepped into the hallway and made his way to the room. They were inside within seconds.

The room was painted bright pink and the furniture was all white. There were two double beds, a small dresser with a television, a small desk, and a small bathroom. The one window looked directly into another building, which happened to also be painted pink and blue. All Tony could think of was Government budgets. "Are we hiding from someone?" he asked.

"No."

"Then why didn't we walk through the lobby like normal people."

"I told you already. I don't want the fact that you're alive to get out just yet."

"Because there are people trying to kill me," he mocked.

Gibbs smiled. There seemed to be just a hint of humor trying to rear its crazy head.

"I don't understand," Tony said. "If people are trying to kill me then why don't you arrest them?"

Gibbs poured a glass of water from a bottle that had been left my management and handed it over, "Here, drink it. You hungry?"

Tony rubbed his stomach and nodded, "I could eat."

"I'll order room service."

Tony listened as the order was placed and he realized that this man knew exactly what he liked. "So," he began, "how do I go about getting my memory back?"

"I have no idea."

"Maybe you can tell me things that I don't already know. Like, do I have a wife? Girlfriend?"

"No and probably."

"Probably? What does that mean?"

"You tend to date a lot."

"Girls, I hope."

Gibbs smiled, and nodded.

"Do I have any kids?"

This was a question that Gibbs had often asked himself. Did Anthony DiNozzo have any children? He always came back to the same answer, "Maybe."

Tony leaned forward, "Maybe! What does THAT mean?"

"It means maybe."

Tony dropped his shoulders. If this man didn't know him any better than that, then maybe he should get his answers from someone else. He rubbed his head and mumbled, "Maybe I should hold my questions until I see my father."

Gibbs played out that conversation in his head; one asking the other if he any offspring. He quickly decided that wasn't a good idea.

Tony looked up and said, "At least tell me if I'm any good at being a federal agent?"

"Yep."

Tony waited for more, but when nothing more came he rubbed his brow. This was going to be a long night if this man only gave him short answers. He decided he didn't really care. He was hungry and tired and his head ached. He sat down on the edge of the bed and it was soft and it felt good.

The food arrived and he ate half of what was on his plate. He was hungry but he didn't feel like eating. Fatigue sort of overwhelmed him. He set the tray on the small desk and lay back, wondering if he was capable of sleeping, an act that had eluded him for quite some time. He decided to close his eyes and find out.

Gibbs listened to the rhythmic sounds of slumber emanating from Tony. He stood over him watching his chest rise and feeling ever so relieved that he was alive. Not since Kelly and Shannon's death had he felt so broken. He couldn't stop staring. The worry lines on Tony's face were accentuated by the deep tan that he now sported. He bent down and touched the metal bracelet around his wrist, a reminder of the horror that Tony had lived through. Images of his agent thrashing about in the water trying to reach the ring invaded his thoughts; he shook them away. He only wanted the sight of Tony sleeping to occupy that space right now.

He took the food trays and set them in the hallway, and then closed the door softly behind him. He made his way to the lobby only this time he used the small non air conditioned elevator. Once there, he called Borin.

After hearing his voice, she said, "Are you okay?"

He rolled his eyes and replied, "What'd'ya got for me?"

"I waited for you in the lobby. How'd you sneak past me?"

"Do you have anything or not?"

"Our flight leaves in a couple of hours. I got us seats on a Coast Guard Medivac; they're transporting a fisherman. We were lucky, but I guess the fisherman wasn't. Anyway, you should meet me in the lobby at four."

"I'm not going back just yet. I got some things to check out."

"Like what?"

Gibbs debated on how to respond, "Have you heard anything about Duggard Rawlings?" It was as if he could hear her confusion over the phone.

"We've sent BOLOs out to all ports, but there are more ports that we can't communicate with than we can. And being a pirate, he doesn't exactly do thing by the book. If I hear anything, you'll be the first to know." When he didn't respond, she added, "Listen, Gibbs, I can stay. Just say the word and I can put resources on it."

"I got it. If I hear anything I'll let you know." With that, he folded his phone closed and went to the front desk.

"May I help you?"

"Yes. I need to make a reservation."

****8

Tony woke to a darkened room. He lay there a few minutes clearing his head and remembering his situation. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to remember. He rubbed his forehead, wishing his headache would abate. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he used the toilet and splashed some water on his face. Staring at his reflection, he leaned on the sink and asked, "Why can't you remember anything? Everything seems like it's right there, but…" He sighed at the void.

"Sleep well?"

Tony looked across the room to a figure sitting in a small chair. He scratched his head and ran his tongue over his teeth. "Yeah. I guess."

"I got you some things in the bag there."

Tony found a toothbrush, a razor and a few other items in the small bag. "Thanks. What time is it?"

"Almost six. You slept a long time."

Tony sat back down on the bed and looked around. "Anything to do on this island?"

"Not for you."

Exasperated, he fidgeted with the sheets. His head was really beginning to pound and he wanted answers. "Tell me something about ME, damnit!"

Gibbs leaned forward, studying him. If Tony decided to go out and find answers on his own, there really wasn't anything he could do to stop him. "What do you want to know?"

"I don't know— What's my full name?"

"Anthony D. DiNozzo, Jr."

"Jr.? That must mean that my father is a senior?"

"Yep."

"Do we get along?"

"You have a complicated relationship."

"Meaning… we don't like each other?"

"Meaning you have to work at your relationship with him."

"Why? What'd he do?"

Gibbs leaned back and thought. Just how much should he say? The relationship that those two shared pissed him off more than anything, but it wasn't too far off from his relationship with his own father.

"Well? What'd he do?" Tony repeated.

"He sent you to boarding school after your mother died. I get the impression that you didn't like that."

Tony gave that some thought, then he decided to move on. "You're my boss at this NCIS, right?"

"Yep."

"You say I'm a good agent?"

"The best."

Tony nodded, relaxing a bit. "Do I work with anyone?"

"Yep. A small group of people make up my team."

"Team? We're on a team?"

"Yep. You, Ziva, and McGee are my agents. Abby is our forensics scientist, and Ducky is our Medical Examiner." Gibbs studied him for signs of recognition. "You're my senior field agent."

Tony had left the bed and was pacing the length of the room. He always had a lot of nervous energy and apparently he still did.

Gibbs asked, "Do you remember Caitlin Todd?"

Tony shook his head.

"Jenny Shepard?"

"No."

"Jeanne Benoit?"

He shook his head.

"Wendy?"

"Who are these people? Did I date them? Marry them? What?"

"Some you dated, some you worked with. They're all dead now."

Tony looked sharply up. "Dead? Did I kill them?"

"No. But in your line of work people often die."

Tony tugged at his head, wishing the pain behind his eyes would go away. "You got anything for a headache?"

"Nope."

Tony drank some water and sat down on the bed. It was time to ask the questions he'd been putting off. Time to ask what had happened to him and why he wasn't dead.

"Let's get something to eat," Gibbs said before the words could come out of his mouth.

Tony felt his stomach and thought it wasn't a bad idea.

"Here," Gibbs said tossing some cloths his way. "Take a shower, shave, and put these on. I'll be back."

"Where're you going?"

"To make sure the coast is clear."

****8

The restaurant they walked into was a hole in the wall dive. It was a cab drive away on the opposite side of the island and it didn't even look like a restaurant. Several tables and chairs were set up outside on the dirt with chickens roaming around. Inside, it was dark and the furniture was old and rickety. It did have one thing going for it: the aroma was enough to start any man's glands salivating.

They walked towards the back and Tony's face brightened when he saw who was tucked neatly into a booth.

"Nelson! Martha!" He gave both a warm hug and slid in opposite them.

"My, my," Martha said. "You sure do clean up nicely. I don't think I realized just how handsome a man you are."

Tony ran a hand through his hair and said, "I could use a haircut, but it's nice having some clothes to wear."

"You look rested," Nelson said. "Agent Gibbs must be taking care of you."

Tony nodded and gave his boss an appreciative smile.

The conversation was light and exactly what Gibbs had hoped it would be. Tony ate most of his meal and they learned that the Caldwells always make it a point to eat at this particular restaurant whenever they're in Aruba. Gibbs listened and it was good to simply hear Tony's voice. All he wanted was for Tony to relax and let the tension and anxiety melt away. And the only way he knew to do that was to put him around the very people he was most comfortable with. And they seemed to be enjoying it as much, if not more, than Tony was.

After the food had been removed, Martha reached across the table and touched Tony's hand. She ran her fingers over the metal bracelet that was a constant reminder of another time. "We know a man who can get these off."

"Really? We're there if you do." The look he gave his boss was not lost on the Caldwells.

Gibbs nodded and said, "Let's go."

They paid the bill and caught a cab back into town. They were dropped off at the harbor, which made Gibbs a little nervous. The last he needed was for someone in the Coast Guard to recognize him or Tony.

Nelson said, "The guy we know repairs boats and he has just about every tool you can think of. If he can't cut those things off, no one on this island can. C'mon, his shop is just around the corner and I've already called and asked him to stay open."

Nelson stopped halfway down the block and knocked on a metal door. Gibbs looked nervously around. He felt like any second he was going to hear his name. The Coast Guard was all over this harbor.

The door eventually swung open and a man who was a wide as he was tall bellowed, "Nelson Caldwell! A've been es'pectin' ya! Com'in, com'in!"

He stood aside and let everyone walk past. It wasn't until the door was shut that Gibbs relaxed.

Nelson began the introductions, "Captain Wintergreen, you remember my wife, Martha?"

"Aye, of course I 'member such a pritty ladee," he gave her something akin to a head bow.

"And these are two of our friends…this is G—."

"—Leroy," Gibbs said, cutting across his words. It was best if the fewest possibly people knew who he was.

Captain Wintergreen nodded, "Leroy," he said, pronouncing each syllable like it was a foreign name and offering his hand. His handshake was firm and his hand was the size of a bear paw, calloused and splintery. Gibbs liked it.

Gibbs said, "This is Vincent."

There was shock all the way around except on the part of Captain Wintergreen. He shook Tony's hand and said, "Welcome, yung moun. You come down here to take the pritty ladees out on yer sail boat?" he winked his eye, barely.

Nelson said, "No, he's been travelling with us. We picked him up in Florida."

"Whit can I du fer ya this fine ev'ning? I heard ya was caught in that storm. Do much damage to The Pegasus?"

"No, she's doing okay, but we need a favor." Nelson reached down and held up one of Tony's wrists, displaying the metal cuffs. "Can you cut these off?"

The image changed Captain Wintergreen's demeanor. He rubbed his beard and pulled at it three times while looking at the cuffs. He was a good judge of character but he also knew when someone was not completely on the up and up. "What do we 'ave 'ere?"

"We'd prefer it if you didn't ask any questions. I'll pay for your work," Gibbs said.

Wintergreen touched the metal and knew it was molten chrome steel, very difficult to cut. "Shackles for the good looking moun. A woman get outta hand, eh?"

Wintergreen had turned before anyone could reply. "Follow me, ladee and gents."

They followed him across the warehouse and down a small hallway and eventually they ended up back outside in a shipping yard. "My tools are over 'ere. At least the tool I'll need to take them off is."

He pulled a lever and the yard lit up under the spotlight. There were small boats and large boats and boats on ramps. There were decrepit boats and shiny boats and pieces of boats for as far as the eye could see. If necessary, Gibbs thoughts the mechanics could probably make a boat out of all the spare parts lying around. "Come 'ere, young moun."

As Tony approached, Captain Wintergreen reached for a wrist and put it on a workbench.

Gibbs caught the quick glare he gave his agent.

From where he found them was anyone's guess, but Wintergreen held a pair of crimpers and was sliding the jaw around the metal bracelet.

"Damnit!" he drawled when it became evident they weren't even scratching the metal. The Captain studied the bracelets closer and shook his head, "Ain't seen a pair like these around these parts. Ia've seen 'em in a hellhole called Blacktown, just outside Sydney, though." He looked straight up into Tony's eyes and said, "Who put these on you, son?"

Both Nelson and Gibbs spoke, causing the Captain to look suspiciously at everyone. Nelson smiled and clapped the old man on the back. "You know, Captain, sometimes things happen that can't easily be explained. You know what I mean?"

Wintergreen eyed them and then looked for another tool. He pulled a pair of long handled steel wire cutters and tried to fit the jaw between the bracelet and skin. "I thinks that no woman was involved 'ere." He spoke but never took his eyes off his work. "You know, I've heard talk about a pirate who likes to toss people overboard."

Gibbs shifted from foot to foot. The Caldwells froze.

"Yessirree," he continued, noticing the change, "Ia've even heard a story about one doing just that not too long ago. Seems he tossed a Fed up off the coast of Florida." He stole a glance at the couple. "Yessir, I hears that agent got aet by sharks." He stole another glance at Leroy. "Funny thing about these stories…" he paused long enough to realize that the pair of cutters were making less of a dent than the first pair. He removed them and stared straight at Tony. "Sometimes they ain't true, and sometimes they is." He tossed the tool aside and went looking for something else.

Nelson looked at Gibbs, but there was no expression to read. Tony looked at his boss, too. Gibbs stepped up next to Tony and put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Tony's wrist was red and sore and he was rubbing it. A few feet away, the Captain continued, "Now, it ain't none o' my business, but the Coast Guard was hoping a boat might have plucked this Fed out of the waters. These Coast Guard fellers like to talk and when I heard the name of the boat, The Pegasus, I think about my friends. And here you stand. You see, I nevers forget a boat…" He pulled a powerful circular saw and dropped it on the bench. Tony furrowed his brow at the machinery. "…and it's all a little too coincidental to me."

"Captain Wintergreen," Gibbs began, "this pirate that likes to toss people? You wouldn't happen to know him, or where he might be?"

Wintergreen smiled. "I might have an idea. You gotta hold him still if I'm gonna slice that bracelet off."

Tony pulled back his arm and shook his head, "No way are you taking that thing to my arm."

"Lookee here young moun: that's tempered steel you're wearing. I might have been able to pinch it off but I can't get my tool around it. That leaves cutting it off with this thing."

"I just as soon leave them on."

"Suit yerself."

"Come on," Gibbs coaxed. "It'll be quick." He took Tony's arm and laid it firmly on the bench and then wedged himself between him and the Captain. Nelson moved behind Tony and took a rag and threaded it between the bracelet and his skin.

Gibbs steadied himself, took a firm grip of Tony's arm and gave the Captain the go ahead. The noise was loud and when the blade hit the metal it made a screeching sound that actually hurt the eardrum. Tony's head pounded and he tried to pull away but he was stuck between two men and a chainsaw. To Tony it seemed like an eternity, but the saw finally cut through and just nicked his skin. One cut down, one to go. It took a while, but the bracelet finally came off and noone seemed happier about that than Tony.

Gibbs brought over a chair and let his agent sit down. He rubbed his wrist. Between the hot metal, the vibration, and the noise, he was ready to keep the second bracelet on a while longer. But Captain Wintergreen wouldn't hear of it and Tony found himself standing again with his hand under the saw.

When it had been removed, Tony was rubbing his head as much as his wrists and not doing such a good job of standing on his own. Gibbs guided him to the chair and left him there while he returned to talk to the Captain.

"Do you know the man who did this to him?"

Wintergreen took his time putting his tools away. He looked around and up and then, in a barely audible voice, said, "Not out 'ere. Let's go to mah office and talk."

They collected Tony and the four of them followed the stout man back inside and up a flight of stairs. They walked the length of a hallway and then passed through a waiting room and finally through a set of double doors. The office was unexpected. It was large and beautifully furnished. The floor was carpeted, the furniture was solid mahogany and a brass chandelier hung from the ceiling. A built in book shelf covered one wall and it was packed with the classics. Near the bank of windows that overlooked the harbor were several sofas and chairs and a center coffee table. It looked more like the office of a senior law firm partner than a crusty old sea captain.

Martha mused, "This is a very beautiful office, Captain Wintergreen."

He smiled because he always caught people off guard with it. "'ave a seat. I'll pour us a spot of ale and we'll drink to your friend's good fortune."

Tony sat down and asked, "It would be nice if someone knew what the hell happened to me?"

Martha explained, "He doesn't remember anything, Captain. Got traumatic amnesia. It's all in there, it's just a matter of it coming to the surface again."

Tony looked at his boss and stated, "You know what happened, don't you?"

Gibbs began, "I know some of what happened. We'd been working a case involving a dead Navy commander. It led us to a man named Duggard Rawlings. Rawlings was after me and while pursuing me he managed to capture my team. It was off the Florida Keys that Rawlings' shipmate threw him overboard. He arms were cuffed behind his back and he only had a plastic ring. My last image of him was him struggling to get to it."

"Why did he throw me over?"

Gibbs shrugged, "Jealousy. He didn't like the way his girlfriend looked at you."

Gibbs gave him a minute to let it sink in and then continued, "Rawlings took us to Andros Island where a former Navy Captain was waiting. Mayberry was going to deliver me to a Mexican drug cartel. Fortunately for me and my team, the Coast Guard interrupted his plans. We immediately set out searching for you, but we couldn't find you."

Tony looked around, trying to remember anything of what was being said.

"We must have picked him up while you were searching for him. We came across him late in the afternoon on a Thursday. He was fighting off a great white. It took a nibble out of his side and it was just waiting for him to bleed out. We came along just in time."

Tony felt his side, remembering how it ached and the bandages, although he had no recollection of fighting off a shark.

"When we pulled him onto our boat, he was closer to being gone than not. Being a doctor and my wife a nurse, we had medical supplies that the normal traveler might not, so we were able to stitch him up and give him some medication for the pain. He was out a good long time. We had to cut the chain between the bracelets to treat him, but you can imagine our confusion. What was a man dressed in a suit and handcuffed doing in the middle of the ocean? But when he came to, he didn't remember anything, not even his name."

Tony looked around, all this information was too much. He wanted desperately to remember but there was nothing.

"We heard nothing about a lost federal agent, but then we don't listen to the radio much. We got caught in that storm and if not for Vincent—that's what we called him—my wife would have been swept away. Our yacht became disabled and between the three of us, I think we got her fixed in record time. We had no idea people were searching for us until we got the transmission a few days ago."

Captain Wintergreen emptied his glass and poured another. "I know this Duggard Rawlings, One-Leg we call 'em. He comes into port occasionally harassing the locals and annoying the gov'nment. I can tell you he's one mean SOB and I know he's tossed more than a few men ov'board." He shook his head at the thought. "He was in town several weeks ago, bragging 'bout a job he had that paid lots of money. He was spending it like it was endless too. Then he was gone. That's the way he operates."

Gibbs saw a potential ally in Captain Wintergreen and said, "He'll pay for what he did. I promise you that."

Considering that Rawlings had swindled him out of more money than he cared to admit, Wintergreen smiled and raised his glass to the air, "And may tha' S.O.B. pay for it a helluva long time."

Tony's head was now pounding and he rubbed his temples. So many questions were flitting around his head and he knew he should have been able to organize his thoughts, but images of faces and places and events were flashing through his mind and he was beginning to feel overwhelmed by it all.

"I think we should get him back to the hotel," Martha said, noticing Tony's demeanor.

Gibbs agreed. He paid Captain Wintergreen for his help and handed him a business card. "If you hear of Rawlings whereabouts, or if he comes back to Aruba, you give me a call. Okay?"

"Okay," he replied, happy that a Federal Agent was going after Duggard Rawlings.

Gibbs turned and took Tony by the arm and left the building.

****8

Tony stripped down to his underwear and flopped on the bed. He kept replaying the stories over in his head. There were so many images that kept invaded his thinking that he wasn't sure which ones were real and which were from the stories he'd just heard.

"Let me take a look," Gibbs said peering down on him.

Tony felt the bandage that was wrapped around his mid-section. He had come to reusing the gauze and his fingertips told him that it had seen better days. He stood and unwrapped his chest.

Gibbs leaned closer and observed the marks. "And you don't remember getting this?"

Tony shook his head. "I don't remember any of it. The shark. The water. The boat. You. I get images in my head but it's only a flash and then it's over. Gone."

Gibbs touched near the more pronounced wounds and took a deep breath. He disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a small tube. "Put this on those cuts."

Tony dutifully did as he was told and lain back down. He wasn't tired but he felt drained. "Tell me something more about myself."

Gibbs almost didn't hear him, but he did, and so he pulled his chair over and sat down next to him. "You happen to be a top notch investigator. I rely on you heavily to see the pattern in the crime. I don't think I've ever known anyone who has a better instinct for this type of work than you. You work well with your partners—"

"Partners? Who are they?"

"You work with Ziva David, she's our Mossad liaison. And you work with Timothy McGee, he's our technical guy. The three of you make quite an unbeatable team. Alongside of them is Abby Scuito, our forensics scientist. I'm afraid she's taken your possible death the hardest. And then there's Dr. Mallard, or Ducky. He's our medical examiner, and Jimmy Palmer, his assistant."

Gibbs continued, "You're the guy everyone wants to have around in a firefight. You're the guy who keeps everyone else on their toes. You call it how you see it and you see it through rather off-beat eyes. According to some, you have commitment issues, and according to you, you have authority figures, which might explain your relationship with your father."

"My father," Tony repeated. "It's strange, but I feel like you're my father."

Gibbs was taken aback by the comment. There were times over the years where he did for Tony the same types of things that a father would do for a son, but Tony had a father. There was a biological father in his life with which Tony desperately sought a relationship. But the facts don't lie and there were more times than not when Gibbs looked out for Tony like he were his own child. "I look after you. Sometimes, not often, but sometimes you need a guy like me around to keep you grounded."

"I feel like there's a woman in my life, too, but I can't picture her or even tell you anything about her. Is there someone who means something to me?"

Gibbs felt like this was a question that he should be asking Tony. "There is a young woman that you care about. I'm not sure how close you two really are, but she cares about you as much as you care about her."

"Who is she?"

"Ziva David," he whispered.

"My partner?"

Gibbs nodded, which may have been lost in the darkness.

Tony's tone changed and he asked, "Am I a jerk?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I'm the guy on the outside looking in."

"You're not a jerk. You have moments where you protect yourself from the outside world. You've developed survival skills that keep your emotions protected, keep people from seeing too much."

Tony lulled his head. He was taking it all in, trying to figure out what kind of a man he really was, but so far, all he could figure was he was some sort of conundrum. Not easy to read but not impossible either. The right person just might be able to crack his exterior and then where would he be. He almost shuddered at the thought.

Gibbs didn't mind the conversation. He usually hated talks like these, but this was different. He was still reeling with relief at Tony being alive so just having this opportunity to talk to him was a gift. He was so vulnerable that he needed Gibbs more now than ever before, and he was happy to oblige that need. The memories would return, and so would the routine, then heaven help the man responsible. Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo was a force to reckon with when he set his sights on a criminal.

****8

Tony tried to relax his head, but his brain was in overdrive. He tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position on the lumpy mattress. He saw a speeding car coming at him yet he was unable to jump out of the way in time. He saw a computer screen with all kinds of information being accessed and a man clicking away on its keyboard, making the damn thing do everything but flirt with him. He saw a woman sitting across from him, looking at him in a way that showed she cared for him.

He saw another woman dressed in black, wearing a studded dog collar and saying words he didn't understand. He saw a man leaning over a body, reaching inside it and pulling out an organ, or something. And all the while he was on the outside looking in. Like some spectator at a game, only the game was life and he wasn't a spectator but a participant, and he didn't know the rules so he wasn't sure how it was played or even what his next move was.

Then he saw the man with one leg. He saw his belly hanging over his belt and smelt his acrid breath. There was another man, big man, near him. And then he felt the water all around him. It was cold, salty and everywhere. He gasped for air and kicked his legs just so he could to get his head back above water. He tried to reach the ring but it was floating away and his arms were immobile, paralyzed. He caught only a glimpse of the boat as it sped away. "No! You can't leave me out here!"

He had to get his arms out and in front of him. He felt his shoulder pop, "Arrrhhhh!" and he struggled with a slippery white water ring. He had swallowed so much water that he thought he would vomit it all out. He was overcome with fatigue; he was so tired. His shoulder ached and his arms and legs hurt. As did his head. So much salt water in his stomach, in his eyes. He couldn't catch a break. The shark was coming right at him. It toyed with him. It veered off at the last second and circled. Then it dove and he was certain the damn thing was going to attack from below. He was so tired and there was so little oxygen in his lungs, and so little energy in his limbs, and so many people he wanted to see, and so many things he wanted to say, but it wasn't in his nature to give up. He swung his fist and hit the beast in the eye, but not before it had sunk its teeth into his side. "Arrrghhhh!" he cried out. "Shit!" he screamed. If he was going to die, he wasn't going to make it easy. He threw his hand out and grabbed hold of something. He kicked out, catching it in the side. He fought it and then his lids snapped opened and he gasped for air, and recognition, for the water wasn't water anymore, and the shark wasn't a shark anymore, yet everything was still as confusing as ever.

"Boss?"

Gibbs stared at the man he was fighting with. What started out as a gentle nudge to wake him up turned into a full-fledged fight. Wait! What did he just call me? "Do you recognize me?"

Tony caught his breath and relaxed his grip. "Yeah…yeah. Boss! You're alive!"

"Yes, I'm alive. And so are you."

"What are you doing?"

"I was trying to wake you up when you attacked me."

"I wasn't attacking you. I was fighting off a shark. Wait a minute… where am I?"

Gibbs let go of Tony and pushed off the bed. He had practically fallen on him when Tony had done the unexpected and lashed out. "You remember what happened to you?"

Tony caught his breath, realizing that he was entangled in the sheets. He felt mummified and moved to free his arms, "I don't know. It's all sort of fuzzy to me. But—Where—How—" He squinted at the sudden invasion of light on his pupils.

Gibbs found the end of the sheet and pulled, essentially unravelling his body and freeing his arms. "You were having a nightmare."

Tony sat up and touched his shoulder, the pain was just so vivid. He touched his side and felt the gashes. "Boss, what happened? I was in water—Wait a second… I remember... Duggard threw me overboard!"

"I know—"

"—That fucking son of a bitch! He left me to die out there!"

"I know—"

"I'm gonna kill that bastard!"

Gibbs put his hands back on Tony's shoulders and squared him up. "There's time enough for that. Right now, the time is to take care of you."

"What's wrong with me? I'm alive and that's about all I need to know."

"Do you remember the last three weeks?"

Tony looked exasperated, "What do you mean, do I remember... I remember that Duggard had the team and—Oh no! Is everyone alive? Did he kill anyone?"

"No, nobody's dead and the team is fine. It's you that we're worried about."

Tony brushed Gibbs' arm away and stood up. His legs felt like putty and he was a little wobbly. "Whatever you're talking about, I'm sure it makes sense to you, but right now, I think it's time to go after that SOB!"

"Just what in the hell do you think has been going on!"

Tony froze; Gibbs was pissed. He must have been missing something because he didn't understand this turn of events. He did still have a lot of questions and there were quite a few gaps in his memory, but he felt fine otherwise. Deferring to an angry Gibbs was always the best option, so Tony sat back down on the bed and waited.

Gibbs pulled up a chair and sat down, his knees practically touching Tony's. They faced each other. He stared at his agent, glad that his memory was back but now he had the task of dealing with a head strong DiNozzo, never an easy job. "I know you want Duggard; so do I. And I promise you that we'll get him, but right now, right here in this hotel room at 4:30 in the morning, you have to take it easy. You've been through a hell of an ordeal, and you have to get your head on straight before you go looking for a man like Duggard."

Tony felt like he was being lectured by his father, only Gibbs was more caring and made more sense than his father ever did. "I'm sorry. I just feel so helpless right now."

Gibbs patted his agent's leg, squelching a strong desire to hug him. Tony is alive; Tony is remembering what happened; Tony is back. But this could all be temporary if Gibbs didn't handle his agent properly. Tony could become hell to handle if he didn't address his concerns. Gently, he asked, "Why don't you take a little time and tell me what know and what you remember."

Tony nodded. His emotions were raw and frazzled, but of all the people in the world he could be with right now, he was glad it was Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He never wanted to disappoint his boss and he felt like he'd done just that. If he could hide his feelings, he could get through this. His boss never looked deeper than absolutely necessary. If he played it right, Gibbs would never know his true thoughts. He just had to hold it together a little while longer.

Tony nodded, "Yeah, sure." He rubbed his face, pushing his anxiety further down and started, "I remember the team being on a boat, an Azamut, I think. Duggard had all of us: Ziva, you, McGee, Ducky. I remember that his sidekick, Bubba, I think I called him, had it out for me, and I remember he up and threw me off the boat. I guess it was one of you who threw me the plastic ring, but it's the only thing that saved me. I don't know how long I floated but I dislocated my shoulder getting my arms in front of me and I remember a shark. A really big one. And that's where it all becomes a little fuzzy. I'm not sure if I fought it or if it just left me alone. Next thing I remember I'm waking up on some yacht. The Caldwells? Yeah, Martha and Nelson. They must have found me and pulled me out of the water. "

Gibbs asked, "Do you remember today?"

Tony closed his eyes and thought. "I think so. I remember being escorted into the harbor by a Coast Guard Cutter and I remember seeing you and Borin. I told the Caldwells that I thought I could trust you, but I didn't know why." Suddenly he looked down at his wrists and said, "And I remember getting these sawed off. Why'd you let me put my wrists under a circular saw?"

Gibbs smiled; Tony was back. "It was the only way to get them off."

"Okay, so now that I'm back, I say we go after Duggard."

Gibbs patted Tony's shoulder again and said, "I have a plan for getting Duggard, but not right now. You're in no condition to go halfway around the world to confront a man who may or may not even be there. He's a pirate and he could be anywhere, on any vessel, in any ocean. But there are people who think you're dead and you owe it to them to not only let them know you're alive, but you need to get your health back."

Tony hadn't realized that quite possibly everyone, from Ziva to Ducky, thought he had drowned. "Can't we call them?"

Gibbs shook his head. "That won't fit into my plans for getting Duggard."

Now Tony smiled. As long as Gibbs thought he was in agreement, then he could play along with anything. "All right. When do we leave?"

"In a couple hours."

****8

Gibbs had purchased two first class tickets on board an American Airlines jet bound for Dulles International Airport. But there was something missing from the trip, namely Tony's incessant chatter. He hadn't spoken two words since boarding and this behavior was never a good sign. It meant he was thinking. When Gibbs crawled inside his best agent's head, he realized he wasn't thinking; it was plotting. He knew this because it's exactly what he'd be doing if the situation was reversed.

"What's on your mind?" Gibbs asked.

Tony came to attention and shook his head, "Nothing much. Thinking about the water, I guess." He took another minute of silence before continuing, "While I was out there trying to stay afloat in the middle of the ocean, it didn't occur to me that I was going to die. Even when the shark attacked, I was still in denial of the most obvious outcome. Had it not been for Martha and Nelson, I wouldn't have…you know…survived."

"I know. There are a lot of people back home who are going to be very happy to hear you're alive and well."

He thought about Ziva, and McGee, and Abby. He had to smile at the image of them learning the news. "This will no doubt rekindle their notion that I lead a charmed life."

"You've been lucky."

"Do they know?"

"Nope."

"Are you planning on telling them?"

"Yep."

"Soon, I hope."

Gibbs already had a plan but he didn't want his agent's miraculous rescue to hit the news wire just yet.

****8

Ziva and McGee were the first to arrive. They walked through the front door without knocking and stood in Gibbs' living room. He did not look like what they were expecting. But it was Gibbs and he rarely displayed any emotion where his work was concerned.

"Make yourselves comfortable. There's beer in the frig."

"That's okay," McGee said. "When did you get back?"

"This morning."

Neither Ziva nor McGee wanted to say the obvious, so they just stood there, awkwardly. Fortunately, it wasn't too long because Ducky, Palmer and Abby walked in next. Gibbs knew that of everyone standing in his house, Ducky was the one who would figure it out fastest. He was just waiting on one more person.

There came a knock on the front door. Palmer asked, "Who knocks here?"

His question was answered when Agent Abigail Borin joined them. She looked surprised to see his entire team standing awkwardly around his sparsely furnished place. She was only a tad miffed that Gibbs brought her in to share the bad news, but she couldn't fault him for it none. She did wish he gave her a heads up so she might have prepared something to say. She cleared her throat and began, "I'm sorry that you have to hear the news this way, but Special Agent DiNozzo was not aboard The Pegasus. We are continuing our search for him, but we believe, at this time, that he did not sur—"

"—Borin?" Gibbs interrupted.

She was almost relieved that she didn't have to say it, but, admittedly, puzzled by the interruption. "I know this is hard to hear, Gibbs, but—"

"I didn't invite you here to give my team bad news."

She, as did all the others, raised their brows in bewilderment. She lifted her shoulders, "Then, I'm confused… Why did you invite us here then?"

Gibbs turned and walked to the basement door. They looked at each other, like maybe their boss hadn't adjusted quite so well to the news of his senior agent. Maybe he had lost some of his mind. Whatever was happening, his team was feeling a mixture of sadness, hope, and pity all wrapped up inside them.

And then they saw him. It looked like him. It walked like him. And it even smiled like him.

"TONY!" Abby yelled and ran to him. She threw her arms around him and hugged him so tight his face pudged out and Gibbs had to put his hands against Tony's back to keep him from falling backwards.

"Tony?" Ziva and McGee repeated. "Tony!" They were by his side stroking his arms and waiting their turn to hug him.

Ducky and Palmer waited next, extending their hands to welcome him back. All were speechless except for the ability to say his name and repeat the word, "How?"

Only Borin stood in the living room aghast. Gibbs figured she'd be pissed but she'd get over it, he hoped. She finally said, "You kept this from me?"

"No," Gibbs replied. "I kept the news from hitting the wire. If you knew, your superiors would know, and then the news media, and then the world. I couldn't have that."

She pushed her annoyance aside long enough to say, "Agent DiNozzo. I'm very happy to see you're alive and well, although I have no idea how you did it. Whatever you did, and I'm sure it will be an incredible story, we've all been very hopeful. Were you on The Pegasus?"

He nodded, unaware of the deceit that Gibbs had been playing. "I'm sorry—"

"Not your fault," Gibbs countered. "I couldn't tell you because I needed this time to track Rawlings."

"Did you find him?" Ziva asked, still touching Tony's arm.

"Not yet."

Ducky stated the obvious, "You can't keep this a secret forever, Jethro."

"Just another day, Ducky. By then, I will have exhausted all my leads. If nothing turns up, Tony will surface and we'll keep looking."

Borin didn't seem satisfied. She knew she had some explaining to do.

Gibbs took on a more conciliatory tone and said, "Rawlings almost killed my team. We all thought he'd killed DiNozzo. I couldn't just let him walk away on this one."

She still didn't look convinced so he continued, "I'll make it right between you and your superiors. I didn't even learn Tony was alive until after you had left and the Caldwells approached me. They knew enough to know that someone was trying to kill Tony, so they weren't anxious to hand him over to the first person who asked about him. Even Tony didn't want to appear."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because he didn't recognize anyone."

She looked hurt. "You know me. Why didn't you feel you could trust me?"

Tony went to answer but Gibbs beat him to it, "Because he had no memory of what had happened to him. He had blocked it out. Not even the Caldwells knew he was a federal agent until it came over their radio. They had no idea who Tony was and he couldn't tell them."

"All I knew," Tony added, "was someone had tried to kill me and I didn't know who or why."

Ziva rubbed her partner's arm while Abby held tightly to his hand. Finally, Borin allowed a smile to slowly grow on her face. She had spent hundreds of man-hours looking for this agent, and he was alive! Besides, it was hard to stay angry at such a handsome agent. For that reason alone, she extended her hand and acknowledged, "Welcome back, Agent DiNozzo. Someday you'll have to tell me all about your adventure."

"Why not now?" Abby said. "I can't wait to tell you all about what you've missed!"

She pulled him to the sofa and they all sat down. McGee and Palmer found chairs nearby and in usual DiNozzo fashion, he started off his story by teasing with his face to face encounter with a great white shark.

Ducky, Borin and Gibbs watched from a slight distance. It was so good to have the team back together that nothing anyone said or did could spoil the feeling.

Ducky commented, "He looks well enough. I brought my bag like you asked. I won't examine him until he's finished regaling them with his tales."

Borin said, "I hope you make good on your promise. Once he surfaces, my bosses are going to demand some answers. In case you hadn't noticed, a lot of money and manpower went into locating him."

"I'll make good. They're just going to be happy he's alive."

As they listened to the story, Ducky was often struck by a peculiar look Tony would get in his eyes. It was fleeting, but it was there nonetheless. There was something going on in this very special agent's mind, and he worried that it was something sinister, reminiscent of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

Even Gibbs picked up on it. The slight hesitation as Tony's brain shot off into a different direction before continuing with his story. The momentary glaze of his eyes as his mind contemplated a dastardly deed. It all gave Gibbs an uneasy feeling in his gut. And he knew exactly what it was. It was a slow festering anger that started small and grew with each passing day. Gibbs knew it well. It had a distinct look, a distinct smell, a distinct feel. And it never went away.

They call it revenge, and if he didn't get to Rawlings first, Tony was going to. That, he was 100% sure of.

~~Fini

**This was supposed to be a fic about revenge, but I got all caught up in writing about the angst of Agent DiNozzo (my favorite thing to do) that I thought I'd split it into two separate story lines. I have to think about how Tony might go after Rawlings, so don't hold me to a sequel too soon. I want to give everyone who reviewed this fic a resounding Thank You! Even if it's months after posting, it really does help when trying to find the time to write, edit, and revise my stories and post them. Finally, and as an aside, this story was actually born during Shark Week 2 years ago! It's taken me that long to incorporate my little shark scene and the few shark facts I was able to slide in into a story. ~~Jasmine (aka Jasmine2009)**


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